


Revelations and Reconciliation

by ArielOfAutumn



Series: Revelations and Reconciliation [1]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forgiveness, Half-Sibling Incest, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Irenicus messed up Charname, Minor Character Death, Much darker than original story, Past Rape/Non-con, Post Yaga-Shura, Sarevok is a snarky asshole, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Suicide Attempt, Tags May Change, Throne of Bhaal, Torture, Vivisection, What if Charname and Sarevok knew one another before events of BG1?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-14 14:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 173,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10538670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArielOfAutumn/pseuds/ArielOfAutumn
Summary: Canon divergence where Charname, Ilyrana, and Sarevok were once very close, as children, before Ilyrana was "saved" by Gorion, who ensorcels them to forget one another.This will revolve around these two characters coming to terms with the events of BG1, when they got the memories of each other back, and if they can ever forgive one another for everything. I've taken liberties with the story, altering quite a bit, omitting even more, like the Solar and Pocket Plane, and added a few original characters and locales of my own.This telling is at times a lot darker than the original story, and there will be companion deaths.Rated for Explicit Language, Violence, Gore, Sexual content.Originally inspired by the Sarevok Romance mod by Aeryn Phoenix (which I highly recommend as it's so amazing.)





	1. The Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Ilyrana, or just Rana, of Candlekeep is an Elven Ranger who started out as one of the "good guys" and goes through a gradual fall from grace. This is due, in large part, to Irenicus, and what he did to her in SoA, as well as the taint, and the emotional trauma of becoming the Slayer. 
> 
> This story starts somewhere after the defeat of Yaga-Shura and before the fall of Sendai and Abazigal. It also assumes that BG1 lasted around 2 years and SoA about 3 years. 
> 
> Now, I felt that Throne of Bhaal was too short, and easy, thanks to being able to teleport back to your Pocketplane to rest without worrying about being ambushed. So, I've completely taken out the Pocketplane and Solar. Sarevok's ghost appears at Suldanessellar, at the stones where Illasera shows up, and events unfold as normal. Ilyrana won't have the Solar to guide her, or a Pocketplane to escape to, and any knowledge obtained there will, or won't, show up somewhere else, depending on how long I draw this story out.
> 
> Please be kind when reviewing, as I haven't written anything in years, and this is purely for fun, plus, there just aren't enough Charname/Sarevok stories out there.

**Chapter 1: The Dream**

 

In the dream, her body was as wasted and weak as her heart had been at the time; a reflection of the ravages of guilt, the madness of _what if._ Gaunt and pale. Her long, dark brown hair lusterless and falling out in clumps. That was the only deviation from the memory of those days. The rest of the dream unfolded exactly as the events had actually happened. This made it harder to bear. Knowing _exactly_ what was coming, and being unable to do anything other than watch it replay.

They had stopped at dusk, Ilyrana and her remaining companions, and made camp for the evening. It had been almost a fortnight since they had fled Baldur's Gate and begun making their way south, to Calimshan.

Almost a month since his death.

Almost a month of dying, not from the grievous wounds she had sustained during that final confrontation, exactly, but from the grief.

Almost.

Almost, maybe, and what if. These words had haunted her since she watched the life behind those proud, rage-filled, suddenly familiar, golden eyes die out. Since his body dissolved into ash, or dust, or whatever it was that the Bhaalspawn were reduced to once their hearts had beat their last.

In the dream, as in waking, Ilyrana felt the sharp, briefly all-encompassing pain of loss, the cessation of her desire to live, to take another step, another breath. This was more than just mourning. The grief was a disease to her kind. A cancer that, almost literally, breaks the heart of an elf who has lost someone they cherished.

For any other elven female, who wasn't a Bhaalspawn, dying from sorrow meant becoming a banshee, one of the living dead whose screams were weapons against anyone within hearing range. Death for her, though, meant the abyss.

No undeath.

No chance at resurrection.

_No more pain._

Ilyrana had chased that end, had almost achieved it.

Almost.

It's amazing, the instinct for self-preservation, and the lengths the mind will go to in order to keep the body alive. The illusions and assumptions it will weave together to direct your thoughts away from what was lost, what could have been... _what if_... and force you to focus on inconvenient questions like "How" and "Why".

It was, ultimately, rage that had stopped the dying, burning away the sorrow like a cleansing flame. And it was rage that Ilyrana began to worship from those days going forward, almost as fervently as she worshipped her God of Shadows. Rage was so much sweeter than sadness. Fury did not hurt. Anger brought clarity.

In the dream, the hooded men materialized from the shadows outside of the glow of the campfire. They appeared without warning. No battle cries. No menacing swagger into the firelight to gloat and make demands. Ilyrana was lying down when they came for her; sweating from the light fever that had plagued her since her swift, and forced, departure from Baldur's Gate. The fever was a lingering symptom of the intense healing required to close the deep laceration that started from just above her right haunch and curved up to a couple of inches below her right breast. A long, repeated healing, because her grief seemed to consume the magics, forcing the clerics to exhaust themselves just to keep the wound closed long enough to stop the bleeding. It shouldn’t have scarred, that was part of the beauty of healing, but it had. She had gotten that _almost_ fatal wound from _him._  She had _almost_ dodged the upward slash of his greatsword, but exhaustion had slowed her.

_Almost, almost, almost, almost._ The words echoed in her mind, in the dream, in her memories, circling like sharks around chum, diving in to rip and tear at what was left of her.

Ilyrana didn’t know how many of her kidnappers there had been. She’d liked to think it took a small army of them to subdue her and her friends. Realistically, though, it was probably only a dozen at most. They shackled, gagged, and hooded her and the others. That was the last solid memory, before the torture, anyway; the taste of cotton dampened with the perspiration of her attackers, the screams, roars, and attempted spellcasting of her companions, the cut of the iron clamped around her wrists, the fear and confusion, and, of course, the rage.

At this part of the dream, Ilyrana began to realize that it _was,_  in fact, a dream. She could stop, right here, and not see what came next. She tried. It was a futile effort, and she knew it, because she’d never been able to wake herself from the nightmares before, but her mind wouldn’t let go of the chance to preserve its shaky hold on sanity, so it fought for consciousness.

In the dream, pain radiated from the top of her spine to the bottom. White hot agony that drowned out everything else. The coppery taste of blood in her mouth from biting her bottom lip and the inside of her cheeks. The burning in her throat from screaming so long and hard that she could only produce a gasping sound now, so destroyed were her vocal cords. There were other pains, she was sure, but she couldn’t feel them. She didn’t know if she was hot, or cold, or hungry, or thirsty. Her world had been reduced to the pain of the cutting, the horror of the vivisections, the fury and helplessness of being spread beneath her torturer.

“It is time for more…experiments.”

His drawling voice was the only thing that could cut through the loud static of agony. His cold fingers skimmed over the inch-long incisions cut diagonally into her spine, each one roughly two inches apart. His hand trailed down, touching each scab on the barely healed wounds. He tsked and turned to the counter beside the table Ilyrana was stretched out on.

She was shivering, from the pain surely, perhaps from cold, too, though his hands were the only cold her body registered anymore. She kept her head turned away from him and his accoutrements, knowing too well by now how much worse it was to watch him work. Instead, she watched the endless stream of bubbles rising lazily from the bottom to the top of the tank across the room. It was empty, the tank was. Well, it was full of water, or some other similar-looking liquid, but it was empty of an occupant, a victim, an experiment. It wasn’t always empty. Yesterday, it had housed a man. Yesterday? No, longer than that. Last week, perhaps.

Time was not measured anymore like it once had been. No longer did Ilyrana think in terms of minutes, hours, and days. Nor in the dawning and setting of the sun, or the waxing and waning of the moon. Down here, wherever here was, she didn’t know whether it was day or night, because there were no windows or skylights. Time was measured by how often he came for her. How often she was cut open, healed, battered by magic, healed,violated, healed. If her companions still lived, she had no idea. She could try and ask him, but she was afraid he would answer her.

Fire erupted at the top of her spine. Ilyrana stiffened, every muscle tightening against the shock of the sudden influx of pain. She ground her teeth together to avoid biting through her lip or cheeks again.

"I believe I have taken enough samples, for now, but…” his voice trailed off thoughtfully. Fire was replaced with ice as his fingers traced the new cut that intersected the old one, forming an X.

"I find this more visually appealing. The symmetry. You’ll have to excuse me, I have no real reason for doing this, but I have much to think about, and this does help me focus.”

Ilyrana didn’t know how many X shaped scars had been cut down her back, to this day she did not look at them in the mirror or reach back to touch them. She tried to completely forget they were even there, and rarely wore any shirts or tunics that would showcase more than a few of them. They were his brand, even if no one would know where they had come from, she pretended they didn’t exist. It gave her some small measure of power over the memories.

She would, in time, heal from all of the damage the elven mage, Joneleth Irenicus, inflicted upon her. There were plenty more scars now, inside and out, of course, but she was healed and mostly whole. With almost no permanent, physical damage. She knew this, knew how this chapter of her life ended; with her triumphant, and him in the bowels of the deepest pits of Hell. The dream, however, would not stop until it reached its conclusion.

Perhaps it was this way _because_ she had become so adept at suppressing the memories. She did not think of it. Any of it. From the time of her capture to the moment Irenicus was murdered, for good, a time span of roughly three years, blanked out of her mind.

Or perhaps it was her punishment for all the blood she had spilled over the years.

Or some sort of self-flagellation for the guilt that grew with each life taken, each murder that she pretended she didn’t enjoy committing.

When Ilyrana walked out of the gates of the library fortress, Candlekeep, her home, some five years ago, she had considered herself a good person. She cared about others. She loved. Oh, how she had loved back then. Her godfather, Gorion, the man who had raised her as his own. Her best friend, Imoen, who she would later find out was her half-sister. Forgetful Phlydia, farmer Dreppin, Jondalar, who had introduced her to the bow, grouchy old Reevor, Hull, whose bark wasn’t much better than his bite. She had loved them all and more. She had gone forth and protected the innocent, aided the helpless, tore down tyrants, rebuilt cities, and stopped a war.

None of that meant shit to her now. She had learned over the years that for every child she saved, ten more starved to death. For every family she reunited, dozens more were slaughtered by roving bands of gnolls and hobgoblins. The moment she walked out of a village she had put to rights, there was already someone within its walls scheming to tear it all down again. She had become jaded. She had learned the harshest lesson that anyone who has ever looked outside themselves has learned: For every good deed performed, two acts of evil are committed. You can’t save them all; it was madness to think you could, that anyone could. This truth had hurt at first. Now, it was just another fact of life.

The dream had one last act before the curtain closed and she was allowed to wake. This knowledge did nothing to comfort Ilyrana. The end was the worst part. Her mind knew this, was bracing for it, _had_ been bracing for it since the first act was played out. This was the moment, every time she dreamed this dream, when her muscles contracted, her fists clenching tight enough that her nails cut into her palms or tore open the sheets of the bed she was in. The cold sweat. She began to hyperventilate. Her body already beginning to ache from the strain of tightening in preparation for a violation that was not about to occur outside of her head.

“You look so much like her, you know,” Irenicus murmured as his long fingers stroked down Ilyrana’s cheek and brushed against the tangled, matted mess of her hair.

“Her hair was golden, though. And her eyes, those beautiful eyes, were a shade of green I have not been able to find since I last looked into them.”

She was now stretched out on her back, on the same table as before.

His hands slowly roamed down her neck, thumbs brushing into the hollow of her throat. He kept talking softly, not caring what she thought about his words, like one who whispers soothing nonsense to a horse to keep it from bolting. As if she could do much more than flinch when her wrists were strapped down on either side of her head. She kept her eyes closed. She didn’t have to look to see the hideous blue veins raised across his visage. His hollow, pale blue eyes. The leathery texture of his face that she wasn’t entirely sure was real and not a mask. The slightly sweet smell of rot that permeated around him, mingled with the constant, heavy scent of blood, and the spicy, stringent smell of magics that clung to his clothes. All of these details, and much more, were tattooed inside of her mind, forcing her to see, hear, smell, and feel every aspect of him regardless if he was close by or if she was even conscious.

“But the _shape_ of the eyes is the same. As is the rest. You are quite a bit smaller in stature, but that’s not important.”

It was here that she opened her eyes, pinning his gaze with one of loathing. Amber staring down blue. She felt hot tears of rage and frustration roll down the sides of her face and into her hair. She should have kept her eyes closed. If she did, if she gave him no resistance or acknowledgement of what he was about to do to her, he would begin to speak to her as if she were his former lover. He would call her by _her_ name, he would do those sick, painful, violating things to _her,_  instead. _Her._ Elliseme, the elven queen who he had loved, and who had loved him. The one who had exiled him. Ilyrana couldn’t this time, though. Couldn’t be passive, that is.

In the dream, she knew in some way that this would be the last time, or one of the last times, that he raped her. How many times he had done so, she had no idea. They all tended to blur together, certain times only standing out because of something especially sadistic that he did. She felt the last of her strength of will build up just enough to defy him, in whatever small way that she could. She knew he liked to pretend that she was Elliseme, so she would take that away from him this time, even though, by doing so, she couldn’t try and pretend that the rape was happening to someone else, someone other than herself.

The disdain on his face didn’t change as he stared at her. There was no smirk to show any sort of smugness or feeling of superiority over her. Just a never-changing look of contempt that he bore for all things.

“Get on with it,” Ilyrana rasped, her voice broken from prolonged screaming.

“Godchild, I thought you had learned this lesson by now,” Irenicus replied, one hand squeezing her breast harder than he would have if she had remained silent.

Ilyrana bared her teeth in a quiet snarl of fury. Her bloodshot eyes bleeding into a soft, golden glow as her divinity responded to her rage. She felt the taint of her father’s blood burn through her, calling for Irenicus’s death, his screams of pain, his choking last breaths. She felt this in the dream, and outside of it. Felt the seductive, destructive might of her divine heritage attempt to fuel her wrath and steel her for the slaughter. She could do nothing now, as then, but lay there and let the surge of strength and bloodlust crash through her, and around her, then begin to fade, like a wave she had stood against on the shore.

Irenicus didn’t even acknowledge her fury. Why would he? She may be half-god, but here, in the underground labyrinth of his laboratory where she was imprisoned, he was her god. He stood up from the stool he had been sitting on beside her and began unbuckling his belt, his dead eyes never leaving hers. Ilyrana’s heart rate sped up even faster, adrenaline pumping through her weakened body, mingling with the power of the taint, trying to give her a potent enough dose of strength to fight and escape. Her arms strained against their bonds, her thighs began to shake from the effort of closing against the straps that held them open.

Irenicus watched her futile struggle dispassionately. He couldn’t feel much anymore, not after living so long without a soul. He tried to recreate the love he had shared with Elliseme through Ilyrana, and the dryads he kept captive, as well. They despised him, were disgusted by him, and he couldn’t blame them even if he could care enough to be bothered to try. His body was slowly beginning to die, like a mortal’s, except that it wasn’t ageing so much as just decaying. He would eventually die, though, if he didn’t possess a soul soon, but that wasn’t as big a problem anymore, now that he had a demi-god’s soul almost ripe for the taking. A few more tests and she would be ready. Until then, he would take out the lingering resentment he held for his former love on the one who looked so much like her. He could no longer feel love, affection, or pity, but hate, bitterness, and power, he could still remember vividly.

Irenicus studied the straps that held Ilyrana’s legs open. They were beginning to fray. He began murmuring a spell as he untied the straps. Ilyrana stopped struggling for the briefest of moments, disbelieving that he was allowing her any kind of freedom. This was her chance. With a desperate surge of strength, she tried to close her legs, bend them back to herself, and launch a double-footed kick into his face or any other part of him she could reach. She might have succeeded, if not for the spell.

Some form of vampiric, or frost, magic surrounded Irenicus’s hands like gloves. The cold was so intense that they began to smoke in the damp and humid confines of the dungeon. With a serpent’s speed, he clamped those hands down on her inner thighs, digging in his fingers, and pulled her to the edge of the table.

Ilyrana’s scream cracked the glass of the tank across the room. Irenicus noticed neither, as he forced himself inside her, so intent was he on feeling something, anything, even if it was only the dominion over another living thing for a brief time. Her screams would eventually die out as her throat began to tear and bleed. This would happen long before Irenicus finished with her, long before the spell faded on his hands. Before the skin on her thighs had frozen to his fingers so that every time he moved or flexed them, the skin would slough off, leaving the table coated in blood, and the muscle of her thighs exposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the only time rape will be described. What Irenicus did to her will be brought up throughout the story, but this is as graphic as it will be written.


	2. Secrets

**Chapter 2: Secrets**

 

Ilyrana jolted awake, the worn, thin sheets sticking to her sweat-drenched skin as she shot up into a sitting position. Her stomach heaved, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, ignoring the taste of blood from the cuts she had made in her palms during the dream. Staggering to her feet, her muscles on fire from being tensed for so long, she stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time to vomit up the wine and bread she had had for dinner two hours ago.

She sat there for a moment, on her knees, both elbows propped on the toilet seat and the heels of her hands pressing painfully into her closed eyes as she waited to see if her stomach was going to sit still.

A minute passed. Then another.

With a deep breath, Ilyrana pushed herself to her feet, placed one hand on the mirror above the sink, and leaned forward to fumble with the tap, her eyes still shut. With one hand, she splashed water onto her face and rinsed her mouth out, never opening her eyes, never looking into the mirror.

It was the stinging in the palm pressed against the glass that caused her eyes to reflexively open and glance up.

Anger and loathing roared through her as her reflection glared back at her. That face. _Her_ face. The too big eyes, doe eyes, but whiskey-colored, made her look young and innocent. She supposed she was young, still, having only seen some twenty-something seasons. She didn't know, of course, exactly how old she was. Most of the bhaalspawn didn't, either because they were born in the temples, where it was their sacrificial deaths that were celebrated, not their births, or, most commonly, it was because the rate at which they aged was so abnormal. For Ilyrana, it was both these reasons. As an elf of some twenty or so years, she should be a toddler still, not reaching maturity until her sixties, but all of the bhaalspawn, regardless of race, aged at about the same rate as regular humans did.

Pale skin, and delicately pointed ears, the tips of which just barely peeked out from her long almost-black hair. Scars littered her body, scratches on one side of her neck by a gibberling, a torn bite from a vampire who had missed her jugular between her neck and left shoulder, the one that curved around the right side of her abdomen, the X’s down her spine, and the mottled cold burns on her thighs.

It was her face, though, that she despised. Not the scars or any other physical attribute or flaw. Her face, that was, for no known reason, so similar to the striking queen of her race, was what she could not stand to see. It reminded her too much of the times she was forced to _be_ Elliseme.

The woman in the mirror snarled, her eyes glowing brightly for a second, before she struck the glass with a closed fist. The mirror shattered. A few shards clinked into the porcelain sink. Now, there was a spiderweb of cracks spreading out from where her face had been.

There were many mirrors scattered around Amn, and other regions, that were similarly broken. Almost every room of every inn she had stayed in was left with most of its reflective surfaces marred in one way or another.

Ilyrana washed the blood and glass from her knuckles, wrapped a hand towel around them, turned, took one step back toward the bedroom, and froze.

Her eyes flared into golden light, this time not from a strong emotion, not from her rage, but from the other half of her soul that was two rooms down the hall. She felt a brief moment of vertigo as his half plucked against hers, verified her location, and withdrew. Her eyes faded back to their normal color.

Ilyrana sprang towards her door, hand towel fluttering forgotten to the floor, as she reached to ensure the locks were in place. She froze again, as the futility of what she was doing sank in. Something between a sigh and a growl escaped her lips as she angrily began unlocking the door in jerky, barely controlled motions. There was no point in trying to keep him out. He was coming, she knew it, and he knew she knew it. What should concern her was _what all had he figured out from what he had seen?_

That he _had_ seen her dream, dreamt it just as vividly as she had, was certain. She could taste that knowledge when their soul briefly reconnected. Her heart, which was only just starting to settle back into a healthy rhythm, began pounding yet again.

So, so much information in that dream. So much that she had never told the others. Gods, so many secrets. So much that Ilyrana couldn't even confide in her closest friend, her half-sister, Imoen. So much concerning _him._ Was that why he was coming? To twist the knife? That she had been dying from the pain of his death was a secret she had guarded just as fiercely as she had hidden the extent of what Irenicus had done to her.

_Had he seen that?!_

She felt her stomach threaten to heave again as she realized that she was trapped. Not physically. Oh, she could run and avoid facing him tonight, maybe even tomorrow, as well, but the confrontation was set, there was no point in drawing it out or allowing him to mull it over. She couldn't hide, either, their shared soul meant they could check to see where the other was at any time. Just as they could get an idea of what the other was feeling, as long as their inner shields were down. No, she was trapped by the favor she owed him.

Yaga-Shura had been a half human, half fire giant, son of Bhaal. Nigh unkillable, he, and his armies, had laid waste to Saradush, a city that was held by Gromnir, a half-orc Bhaalspawn. A city that had also, coincidentally, taken in hundreds of bhaalspawn refugees just before it came under siege. Those bhaalspawn who didn't have much, or any, power derived from the taint of their father.

The fight against Yaga-Shura had been one of the most exhausting that Ilyrana had ever endured. Saradush’s walls had just broken, human mercenaries and fire giants pouring inside like ants over discarded fruit. Yaga-Shura himself was still outside the city, with a number of his followers, not yet having entered, letting his soldiers slaughter Gromnir and the other Bhaalspawn

Ilyrana and her party had fallen upon the half-giant before he could join with the rest of his forces. She had climbed to the top of a supply wagon, taking out those who had remained beside him with her bow, while the others engaged the Bhaalspawn. It had taken _hours_ to bring that monster down. Hours her companions spent dodging Yaga-Shura’s horse-sized mace, striking and falling back. Hours spent emptying quiver after quiver of arrows into the waves of soldiers that had come to defend their leader, her arms and back burning from the endless repetition of knock, draw, and loose.

At the end, sensing his imminent defeat, Yaga-Shura, in one last act of desperation, charged their backline. Imoen had been slow to move out of the way, would have been crushed, dying instantly, and perhaps permanently, if Sarevok hadn't gotten in front of her and taken the giant’s right leg off at the knee with one well placed, brutal swing of his greatsword.

He had saved Imoen’s life, and the girl owed him for that, but she was Ilyrana’s only real weakness, the one thing left that she loved, as Sarevok well knew, so Ilyrana had offered to take the debt upon herself, and unsurprisingly, he had accepted.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, willing her face to set into a mask of neutrality, her body to relax. She walked across the room, choosing to settle herself on the opposite end from the door.

She heard him, now, striding down the hall towards her room. His steps were quieter than you'd expect for a man his size, but her ears missed little. Ilyrana took another deep breath, leaned back against the wall, folded her arms, glanced at the desk that would stand between them, and her knives laid out upon it in easy reach, and went as cold as she was capable of.

The door swung open and Sarevok stepped in. She expected him to slam the door behind him, she could feel the rage pouring off him, even leaking through his mental barriers. The barely audible click as the door gently shut was somehow worse.

His dark gold eyes locked onto her and, for a second, neither moved. Then, slowly, deliberately, he began closing the distance. She watched him pause, turn to look at the shattered mirror, the light from the candles in the room reflecting off of the tattoos crisscrossed over his head and down his emotionless face, and turn back to her. She could almost see the puzzle piece falling into place. See him making the connection between the dream and the mirror. She hadn't spoken a word and already she felt as if he was beginning to understand everything she was furiously desperate to keep hidden.

It would have terrified her once, watching him stalk toward her in the small, now tiny-feeling, room, while she held no weapons, and wore no armor. Well, neither of them did, but he had a foot and a half in height on her, at least another hundred pounds of muscle, and a much farther reach. Physically, he was more powerful than she was. She had speed on him, but even then, he was faster than he had any right to be. No, she would win a physical confrontation only because of the Slayer, and they both knew it. The fact that she had won their last battle was firmly blocked from Ilyrana’s mind, because the aftermath…

This wouldn't come to blows, though, she was almost sure of that. He had more to lose then she did. Death, at this point, wouldn't bother her so much. Death, _again,_ for him, though, knowing a third chance at life was impossible, and knowing what to expect when he passed on, was something he did _not_ want.

Sarevok stopped at the desk and rested his hands on the back of the chair pulled up to it, wrapping them around the wood. His gaze never left her, and hers didn't waver from his. They stared at one another, him a towering mass of fury barely restrained. Her a cold, emotionless statue. She was not going to break the silence. He had come to her, so she would let him open this match.

“You owe me a debt for saving that pest’s worthless life, and I've come to collect,” Sarevok said after a moment, his deep, caustic voice carefully controlled.

Normally, Ilyrana’s hackles would have raised at the use of the words “pest” and “worthless” to describe Imoen, but she didn't react. He knew, better than the others did, that making her angry would make her talk. This was already going to be difficult, with him holding most of the cards, and when talking with Sarevok usually made her feel like she was playing a game of chess blindfolded, forced to feel each piece on the board after every turn, trying to mark their location and remember which pieces were taken and which were still in play. So, she would try to keep her rage tightly leashed, and try to find out how much of the dream he had seen, and what he could deduce from it.

“What do you want?” Ilyrana asked.

“Do _not_ play this game with me, girl. You know damn well _why_ I'm here and _what_ I want,” Sarevok’s voice rose and his hands briefly tightened around the chair.

Anger was Sarevok’s god, too, as well as one of his most glaring weaknesses.

Ilyrana took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could evade and redirect, but playing dumb would not work in her favor.

“You want answers, and I want to know how much of my dream you spied on.”

“Yes. Answers,” he sneered. “Answers to several questions raised by the dream _I had no control over seeing while I was also asleep.”_

 _“_ Whatever. I need to know how much you saw.”

“I saw more than I wanted to see.”

“Stop being vague,” Ilyrana snapped.

“Stop trying to wiggle out of what you owe me, or next time you had better be there to protect that weak child,” Sarevok countered.

“I didn't ask you to save her,” Ilyrana snarled back through clenched teeth. “I'm still surprised you bothered to at all. Going soft, Sarevok?”

“ _En_ _ough_ !” The back of the chair snapped beneath his hands. “Some of your secrets have to do with me and I _would know why.”_

“And _all_ of my secrets are supposed to be private. That's why they’re called ‘secrets’, you arrogant-”

“We share a soul, you fool, privacy is an illusion, now,” he interrupted. “You think I _enjoy_ that side effect of my resurrection? You think I _want_ to be tied to _you_ like this?!”

“Oh, please. Don't try to pretend that you don't get off on using it against me,” Ilyrana shot back. “Or that this is the first time you've used it to glean information.”

“Pretend? I openly admit that having the power to peruse your weaknesses at my leisure is the only tolerable aspect of this arrangement. Aside from _living_ again, that is.”

Ilyrana opened her mouth to deliver her verbal riposte, but he continued, his voice rising over hers.

“And, speaking of living, I am curious as to _why_ you allowed me to join you after returning me to life _without_ a geas to ensure I couldn't betray you.”

That brought her up short. There were several questions that she was terrified he would ask, secrets that she couldn't imagine ever uttering aloud, especially to him. This question wasn't one of those; it was, in fact, one she had expected him to ask at some point in the last several months since he had bribed her for a portion of her soul to resurrect him. Why ask it now? Why come into her room in the middle of the night, even more pissed off than usual, just to ask _this_ question? Maybe he hadn't seen as much of her dream as he had let on?

“I'll make this easy for you, since you appear to be struggling,” Sarevok’s snide voice cut through her thoughts. “You will answer three questions, honestly, and to my satisfaction. I have already asked the first.”

Ilyrana’s stomach sank. Three questions. No, he wouldn't be calling in the debt for just one. An idea occurred to her, and she tried not to let it show on her face. It wouldn't get her out of this interrogation, but it could give her some leverage.

“Fine. I'll tell you what you want to know, honestly, I vow it. _But,_ I want a question of my own answered, as well,” this time it was her turn to raise her voice over his when he started to protest. “You owe _me_ that much for taking _half my soul_ instead of _just a piece.”_

_Check._

He fell quiet for a moment then, weighing, she supposed, the risk of what information he would have to give up against what he might learn in turn.

“Don't look so worried, it should be easy for you to answer. I promise,” Ilyrana crooned maliciously, enjoying the shoe being on the other foot, if only for a second, and hoping that he might back out of this entirely, now that he could potentially hand over a weakness, as well.

He placed his hands flat on the desk and leaned toward her. Her knives were lying just inches in front of him now, so that, if she wanted them, she was going to have to get _a lot_ closer to him than was advisable. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet, his gaze boring into hers.

“You do realize that I could have demanded far worse than just _answers,_ little one. _”_

Oh, she did realize this, but, she had already known when she acknowledged the debt that he wouldn't ask for anything that he was implying he could have asked for. Their soul dilemma worked both ways, after all. She knew him just as well as he knew her.

“We both know that information _is_ far worse than anything else you would have demanded,” she replied softly, her eyes glowing dimly in the candlelight for a second, giving him a final warning to back down from this.

His expression didn't change, but she hoped he was beginning to realize just how sharp this double-edged sword could be.

“So be it. Now, tell me why you didn't force me to swear to a geas that I couldn't betray you.”

Instead of trying to formulate her answer, she already knew it, she wondered _why_ he wanted to know that so badly. A geas was a powerful, unbreakable vow. Acting against one once you have made it results in a swift, agonizing, _permanent_ death.

His questions would be telling, she realized suddenly, not as much as her replies would be, but still. Her question was also just as telling, but she pushed that aside for now.

“Tick tock.”

“You didn't say this was timed.”

“I didn't think I had to. If you want to stand here all night, then I guess I can't stop you, but the dawn won't bring an end to this, in case you were thinking of stalling.”

She suppressed a growl of irritation and decided to hurry up and get this question over with.

“Back in Athkatla, there was a bounty hunter from Kara-Tur who was aiding me in my search for Imoen and vengeance against Irenicus.”

Sarevok’s right hand, his dominant sword hand, twitched at the mention of the mage. Ilyrana made note of it and continued.

“When we caught up to Irenicus in Spellhold, just after he had extracted mine and Imoen’s souls and placed one in himself and the other within his sister, it was revealed that Yoshi had been…” She broke off suddenly, her voice cracking a little. Ilyrana saw Sarevok take notice, his eyes narrowing slightly. Silently cursing herself, she cleared her throat and went on. “That Yoshimo had been under a geas since the beginning, since before we met during my escape from Irenicus’s lab. He had been ordered to stay close to me, making sure I found my way to Irenicus’s new lab at Spellhold. Once there, Yoshimo was ordered to delay me and my group, by trying to kill me, while Irenicus and Bodhi, his sister, fled to the Underdark.”

“So, you killed him.”

Ilyrana let her gaze drift away from his, not wanting to look into his eyes while she finished her answer.

“No. He resisted the command. The geas killed him.”

Sarevok slowly straightened up to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ilyrana didn't give him the chance.

“I watched one person die that way, a slave to another, I don't want to see it again. End of story.”

“Were you lovers?”

Ilyrana jerked as if he had struck her.

“I don't see how that's relevant _or_ any of your fucking business.”

“I don't care. You vowed to answer honestly, and _to my satisfaction_ , so answer the question.”

Ilyrana’s eyes blazed golden as she pushed off from the wall. She was two steps from the desk. Two steps from her knives.

Sarevok’s own eyes began to glow in response, in challenge. They stared at one another like this for almost a full minute. Each one poised to attack if the other moved.

In the end, it was Ilyrana who backed down first. He was closer to her weapons, it would be folly to even try to go for them. It was folly to have allowed him to get that close to begin with. She slowly sank back against the wall, her eyes fading back to amber. She would save her rage for the questions ahead, when it would surely be needed.

“Yes. We were,” Ilyrana bit out.

Gods, she hated him for this. Yoshimo was an integral part of those three years that she did not think of. How could she not think about him now?

They had become close during their travels through Amn. Yoshi had helped her navigate the underworld of Athkatla, introduced her to Renal Bloodscalp, and through him to the Shadow Master, who aided her in finding Imoen’s location and securing a ship to Brynnlaw. He had shared stories of his younger years in Kara-Tur, and about the bounties he had collected, some of which were obviously fabricated or exaggerated to an often obscene degree, but he had made her laugh, during a time when she could not even remember what smiling felt like. He had made her yearn for his touch, when being touched by _anyone_ reminded her of the feel of Irenicus’s icy hands on her back, her neck, her thighs. And Yoshimo had done those things while under an unbreakable vow to that monster. While he knew that one day he was going to betray her, hand her over to Irenicus to have her very soul ripped from her body, and then finish off whatever was left.

The fact that Yoshimo had resisted the geas in the end, and paid the ultimate price for it, wasn't lost on Ilyrana. If they had never become lovers, she could have accepted that Yoshimo was just as much a prisoner as she had been. That his shackles were just as real, just as heavy, as hers. She could have forgiven him for the role he had played; but, she could never forgive him for allowing her to get close to him, for letting her care for him, for sharing her bed while feeding information back to the man who had violated her.

Sarevok tilted his head, studying her. Ilyrana didn't have to say any of this out loud, it was visible on her face, in the tightness of her shoulders, and the way her crossed arms had begun to curl around her stomach. She had thought that question was going to be easy to answer.

Ilyrana almost regretted shouldering this debt, allowing herself, for a moment, to feel angry at Imoen for letting this happen. It wasn't her fault, she knew that, but now that Ilyrana was paying the price for her sister’s blunder, she couldn't help but feel resentful.

“Next question,” Sarevok said, forcing Ilyrana back to the present. “In the dream, when you were captured by Irenicus’s lackeys, why were you still injured from our fight?”

No. No no no no no no. Not _this_ question.

“It had been weeks since you left Baldur’s Gate,” Sarevok continued, watching her face intently. “Actually, why leave at all if you had not healed yet?”

Ilyrana swallowed the lump of fear and helplessness rising inside of her. She knew, from the moment she realized he had shared her nightmare, that this question would be asked sooner or later. She wasn't ready. How was she going to admit that killing him had nearly killed her? That the memories her foster father, Gorion, tried to erase all those years ago had been restored while she watched Sarevok bleed out? That, even knowing those memories had obviously never meant anything to him, they had meant _everything_ to her. No...that wasn't entirely true, was it? She didn't know if those memories had meant anything to him, because she wasn't entirely sure when he had gotten his back.

Ilyrana’s mind, in one last desperate attempt to save the heart, and thus the body, from succumbing to the sorrow, had woven together a tapestry of assumptions. Of _maybes._ Of _what ifs?_ The end result was what sparked the rage that would keep her heart beating and would encourage her body to allow itself to begin to heal.

Lying there, in a cot back at Baldur's Gate, her fevered mind convinced her that Sarevok’s memories must have returned to him years before their final battle, years before her own did. It had displayed supporting evidence like a shopkeeper presents trinkets for inspection before the purchase, and her survival instincts had bought them all. Because, if it were true, if he _had_ gotten those memories of their childhood together back long before she did, before he came for her at Candlekeep, then they could _not_ have mattered to him. It would mean he had chosen to pursue his ambitions of becoming a god over the bond they had once shared, and break the vows they had whispered to one another, as children do, of never leaving the other's side, and always protecting each other from any who would do them harm.

 _If_ Sarevok’s memories had been restored when she assumed they were. _If_ he was the cold-hearted bastard she believed him to be. _If_ the only thing he had ever truly cared about was power.

But... what _if she was wrong?_

“Before I answer, I'd like to get my question out of the way, first.”

“Go ahead,” Sarevok sighed irritably.

Ilyrana stared at the man for a long moment, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion from lack of sleep, and the tightness of hunger in her stomach from having not been able to keep her recent diet of alcohol and bread down. Her shoulders ached, and the palms of her hands still stung from her nails.

She took a deep breath, held it, then exhaled, and made the only move open to her. The one move that could shatter _everything_ she had once believed...or confirm it irrefutably.

“When, exactly, did you get the memories of us back?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't edit this chapter very much, and I wrote it in small chunks at a time in between work and home life, so it may not flow very well. I also intended to take it in a slightly different direction, to start the slow burn between the two of them, but Sarevok insisted on being a much bigger asshole than I had planned.


	3. Revelations

Sarevok went very still. He might have even stopped breathing. His eyes, though, began to glow, brighter than Ilyrana had seen since Baldur's Gate.

She didn't react to the storm of fury that was obviously building as a result of her question. Not outwardly, anyway. Inside, her anxiety ratcheted up even higher. She didn't really know what she had expected his reaction to be. A mocking laugh followed by the answer she thought she already knew, maybe. Definitely not this, however.

_Why the anger?_

“ _That_ is your question?” He snarled. “You _dare-”_

 _“_ Just give me an answer. It should be simple.”

For a second, Ilyrana saw a flash of uncertainty on his face… and something else. It had almost looked like fear. The mask of arrogance and rage dropped back into place before she could decipher that glimpse of what was underneath.

“I don't know why you would waste your question when you already know the answer,” he said, leaning forward again and resting his hands back on the desk, pinning her with his glare. His eyes had dimmed, but the glow wasn't fully gone. His rage was still simmering.

“I got the memories back at the same moment you did,” he hissed. “When I was standing above you, while you were bleeding out at my feet, with my sword poised to send you to your beloved Gorion.”

Sarevok’s voice rose with each word, biting out the last with venom.

The threads of the tapestry of assumptions began to unravel. The warp of _what if_ and the weft of _maybe_ untangling at his words. Ilyrana’s heart was thundering now, and she couldn't seem to get enough air.

For the first time, in a long time, Sarevok's deep voice lost some of its self-assurance.

“You didn't get them back at the same time I did,” he said slowly, watching her unexpected reaction.

Ilyrana’s eyes were wide, trying to keep the sudden tears from falling. She felt that hollow ache in her chest like before, an echo of the sorrow, and her arms tightened around her stomach, as if she were trying to hold herself together. Hold the threads of herself intact before it all came undone, leaving her naked against the onslaught of memories of their battle and of their childhood.

“When did you think I had remembered them?”

“ _Years_ _before_!” Ilyrana screamed, shoving off the wall to pace, one traitorous tear escaping down her cheek. “It made sense! Why else would you have hated Gorion that deeply? And why go to the lengths you did to get rid of me, compared to the other bhaalspawn you murdered?”

Sarevok’s face was completely emotionless, giving away nothing. His breathing, though, was quicker than it should be, and his shoulders were taught beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. He lowered his head, hands still planted on the desk, and spoke without looking at her.

“When, then, did your memories come back to you?”

Ilyrana stopped pacing, her back to him. She ran her fingers through her waist-length hair before curling her arms around her stomach again. Another tear slid down her face.

“Ilyrana.”

She shouldn't have asked. Why did she have to know? Why was this so important to her? It was so long ago, when they were children, and they weren't the same as they were then. Their promises, made in innocence, didn't count for anything now. Too much blood had been spilled between them.

“ _Rana!”_

More tears tracked down Ilyrana’s cheeks, and she had to bite back a sob as the sound of her nickname, in his voice, rang loudly through the room. She turned around to face him.

“I got the memories back about fifteen seconds after you did,” she whispered. “Just after I put that katana through your heart. As I watched you die.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Almost all of Ilyrana’s strength was spent. Exhaustion made her entire body tremble with each breath drawn, as if the very act of breathing took too much energy. And she needed more and more air to fight the cold creeping through her muscles. It wasn't long now. If he didn't finish her off, the massive wound in her side would do it. She had lost so much blood. She had been so close to avoiding his sword. Had almost missed being struck at all, as only the very end of his lethal blade had scored her. Days spent pursuing him to this temple beneath the city, though, and the hour or so that their fight had dragged on, had taken their toll._

_Desperation was what urged her to keep crawling towards one of her short swords. It was mere feet away, now. Her knees slipped in the blood that saturated the stone floor. Her blood. If she could get to her sword, and if she could stand, then at least she could go down fighting._

_That last shred of hope died as she watched him lazily flick her sword away with a plated boot. Her arms began to give out, she couldn't really feel them anymore. The numbing cold, an effect of the blood loss, was spreading throughout her body, sapping the last of her strength and will._

_Ilyrana collapsed onto her unwounded side, and looked up into Sarevok's face as he brought his sword up, blade pointed down. It was over. She almost felt relieved. She was so tired, and she couldn't breathe, but, mercifully, she didn't feel much pain at this point. She could hear Imoen screaming her name, it sounded so far away. None of her companions, those still alive, anyway, would reach them in time to stop what was about to happen._

_“Finish it,” she whispered hoarsely._

_He didn't, though. Instead, he slowly lowered his sword, his golden eyes, no longer glowing, were wide with shock as he stared down at her. What was happening? Why wasn't he finishing the kill? It mattered little, she supposed, she was almost gone anyway._

_“Ilyrana!”_

_Ilyrana turned her head and saw, in the shadow of one of the massive columns of the temple, a figure. Her vision blurred, and she had to blink a few times, but, eventually, she could focus enough to make out Tamoko. Time seemed to slow as Sarevok’s former lover knelt, placed her katana on the ground, and sent it skimming across the floor towards her._

_She glanced up at Sarevok. His sword now hung loosely at his side, and his eyes were a kaleidoscope of confusion, pain, and anger. None of that mattered. Reaching out, she caught Tamoko’s blade. The worn leather of the handle, and the weapon's weight in her grip, gave Ilyrana one last surge of desperate strength. Pushing off the ground, she spun the katana, wrapped both hands around the handle, and struck._

_It took a few seconds for both of them to realize that she had buried the sword, almost to the hilt, under the plate armor protecting his torso. Her burst of adrenaline faded, and she fell heavily to her knees, then_ _back onto her side. Sarevok collapsed a few feet away. She looked at him, and this time, when their eyes met, for the final time, she remembered. Everything._

 

 

* * *

 

She was told some time afterwards, by Imoen, that, after Sarevok fell, Ilyrana had started screaming. When Jaheira got to her and immediately began the healing to try and save her, she had begged the druid to let her die. She had cried and kept reaching towards the spot where he had fallen and turned to dust. None of them knew why she had acted that way. They would end up attributing it to the delirium of utter exhaustion, blood loss, and the overall trauma of the last few months.

Looking back, Ilyrana realized how foolish she had been to believe he had gotten his memories back years before that. Those final moments, though, from the time she was cut down, to the second she lost consciousness during Jahiera’s healing, had been a vague blur up until now. She didn't know why the puzzle piece slid into place at this moment, maybe her subconscious was finally ready to face the truth of what had happened that day.

“Now, tell me why you hadn't healed almost a month after that fight.”

Ilyrana turned away and looked out at the night sky through the far window. It was jarring, seeing that so little time had passed since he had entered her room, and turned her world upside down. She felt as if she'd aged years in the span of an hour.

“Answer me.”

She didn't want to. Didn't want to continue this conversation. She wanted to forget this night had ever happened, just as she had forgotten, either through repression or by magic, so much of her past. At every point in time that Sarevok had been in her life, there had been pain. She should have never allowed him to live again. Should have known that this time would be no different.

“ _Ilyrana!”_

She flinched at the volume of his voice. Why did he care about this so much? He was almost always a step ahead of her, he should have reasoned out the answer by now.

“You already kn-”

“ _ANSWER ME!”_

She spun back around, teeth bared in fury, eyes blazing. She took a step back after she saw that he had come around the desk, was now only standing a few feet away. _What was wrong with her?!_ Not only had she not heard him move, but she'd had her back to him twice now. She had to crane her neck back a little to look him in the eyes. He looked furious, but his eyes were barely glowing. His hands were clenched into fists.

Ilyrana suddenly stopped caring about what he would think, or whatever cutting remark he would make. She wanted this to be over.

“I hadn't healed, because I was dying,” she bit out, surprised to feel tears in her eyes again. “Of sorrow. Because, watching you die, as I remembered the first several years of my life, and you, who was the only good part of that time, made me want to die as well.”

“Why the _fuck_ did you not tell me _any_ of this,” Sarevok whispered, barely containing his rage. “I've been alive for _months-”_

 _“_ How in the name of Hell was I supposed to know when you got the memories back?!”

“ _Why else would I have stopped from killing you?!”_ He roared back.

“In case you've forgotten, I was _dying_! I can't remember exactly what and how things happened. Especially when I spent the next month delirious from hovering on the brink of death!”

“ _Then_ _why did you even leave Baldur’s Gate if you weren't healed?”_

Everything was happening too fast. Too much information to process. Sarevok began to pace, never taking his eyes off her. She eased back another step, trying to put more distance between them. When he was still, it was fairly easy to ignore just how big the man was. In motion, however, that was impossible.

“The other Grand Dukes figured out, or were told, that I was a bhaalspawn, too. They began to think that we were fighting for control of the city and it's army, that I wasn't there to stop the war, but be the one to steer it rather than you. It wasn't safe to stay anymore.”

“And, as a result, you were too weak to avoid getting captured by Irenicus,” Sarevok finished.

Ilyrana looked away. She didn't want to be reminded that he had seen what came after that. It wasn't shame, exactly. Maybe it was pride. Either way, she didn't like him, or anyone, knowing about it.

“You should have told me, Ilyrana,” He continued, his voice now sounding weary, and still angry.

“What does it matter,” she replied, still not looking at him. “What _would_ it have mattered?”

He was silent for a moment, long enough for her to turn her gaze back to him, to watch him take a slow step toward her, getting just close enough that she couldn't turn away again.

“It would have mattered. It _does_ still matter.”

There was a banging on the door to her room, and the sudden explosion of sound after the pregnant silence that followed what Sarevok had said made Ilyrana jump.

Sarevok turned, his hand reaching for the sword that wasn't there, because he had left it back in his room.

“Rana, there's a large mercenary company heading this way from the west, just over a mile out,” Valygar said from the other side of the door.

It took her a moment to remember that he was one of the ones on guard duty tonight, patrolling and scouting the area around the inn they were staying in.

“Come in.”

Valygar opened the door, stepped inside, and stopped when he saw Sarevok. The ranger looked at the two of them, and, to his credit, managed not to look at all surprised or concerned, but then, not much ruffled the man. It was one of the many reasons Ilyrana liked having him in her group. He also got along with Sarevok far better than most of the others did. Not surprising, since he detested magic, and those who wielded it, and Sarevok was no mage.

“Sorry to interrupt, but there's too many of them for us to deal with. They have about fifty mounted fighters, two dozen wizards, as far as i can tell, and at least another fifty foot soldiers.”

“Could you see their banners?” Sarevok asked.

“Yep. They're the ones from Amkethran.”

“Balthazar,” Ilyrana growled. “Alright, wake the others. Tell them to be ready to leave in ten minutes. We'll keep pushing east, towards the mountains.”

“Where both Sendai _and_ Abazigal are hiding with _their_ respective armies,” Sarevok retorted.

“Do you have a better idea?” Ilyrana snapped. “Valygar, tell the others to meet downstairs when they're ready.”

The ranger nodded, and backed out of the room. Ilyrana started to move past Sarevok to begin gathering up her belongings, but was stopped when he put an arm out in front of her. She didn't look up at him. She wanted to get as far away from him as she could, to pretend she had learned nothing tonight, to go back to the familiar habit of hating him.

She stifled a gasp when she felt his calloused fingers under her chin, turning her head up to look at him. It was the closest they'd been to each other, since they were children, without trying to kill one another. Ilyrana, still reeling from the night's revelations, and feeling raw after...well, _feeling_ so much, couldn't help but notice just how small she was compared to him. And even being uncharacteristically gentle, she could feel the strength in his hand.

“This isn't over,” Sarevok murmured. He stared down at her for a moment, looking as if he wanted to say something more, before dropping his hand, turning, and leaving her to pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a little longer to write than I expected, even being shorter than the previous one. I want to start delving into the importance of their childhood memories, and what those memories entail, so I'm going to try and do that in the next chapter, but it may span several to tell the whole story. As stated in the tags, this is a slow burn, and there will be eventual smut, but these two won't always be as vulnerable as they were in this chapter, and once they've regained their footing, will almost certainly fight the inevitable. 
> 
> With that said, I am going to try and avoid cliche romance tropes. For example, once these two do decide to see where their bond takes them, they won't get cold feet and back out once the deed is done, only to get back together, have an intense make-up, and live happily ever after. Nor will there be any therapy sessions. They're both adults, they both have established personalities and beliefs, and while these things may be shaken up, Ilyrana isn't going to try and bring Sarevok over to the good guys, because shes's not entirely sure she's part of that team anymore. 
> 
> One last note, the rape scene in Chapter 1 is the only time rape happens in this story. It may be referenced again later, and rape/non-consensual themes may be implied or alluded to in the future, but it is the only time it is described.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	4. Orchids and Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, my story, which has been inside my head for longer than I care to admit, and which had been thought out in excruciating detail, has been hijacked by the characters.
> 
> This fic was supposed to be going in a slightly different direction, and almost completed as it wasn't supposed to be very long.
> 
> Also, I never intended to have this story be told from anyone, other than Ilyrana's, perspective.
> 
> So, from the start of this chapter going forward, this is as much a new read for me as it will be for you
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, with a slightly bewildered look on my face as Sarevok stole the mic and forged down a previously unforeseen road.

* * *

_Ilyrana_

 

The dawn saw Ilyrana and her companions leaving the last bit of forest before entering the stretch of dry, rocky land leading towards the Marching Mountains. It would take three days of walking to reach them, not accounting for any surprises.

Ilyrana maneuvered over a house-sized boulder, leaping lightly from it to another one settled against it. Her eyes flicked over the landscape spread out around her. Behind, to the west, she could still see the tops of pine trees, and the smoke from the inn’s cooking fires coiling lazily up into the coral and azure sunrise.

There was no sign of the mercenary army that Valygar had spotted. Not yet, anyway. A force of that size wouldn't travel as quickly as Ilyrana and her companions could. Still, there would be scouting parties sent ahead, and she would prefer it if they weren't seen before they could disappear into the mountains.

Ilyrana turned her attention to her group, moving at a steady pace below her, winding their way through the boulder-strewn terrain. She watched Valygar bound ahead atop a jutting rock formation parallel to her. Together, the two rangers kept slightly ahead of their party, scouting out the easiest routes, and searching for any potential trouble. Behind them, Sarevok and Keldorn had taken rear-guard. They kept this pace up for the better part of the day.

“See anything, Rana?” Imoen called up to her, later in the afternoon, when Ilyrana had dropped back.

“Aye. A lot of rocks.”

“Oh, gee thanks, bufflehead. I'm sure glad you're up there, putting those keen elven eyes to good use.”

“You're welcome,” Ilyrana called back down.

“I fail to be seein’ why ye did nae let our wee halfling tag along with ye up there,” Korgan said. “Would have been right nice of ye to give her the chance to see the world from above four feet off the ground.”

“Says the dwarf,” Mazzy shot back at him.

“Oh, I have no need to be seein’ what's up there, lass. The only thing worth lookin’ at, fer me, be right down here,” Korgan said with a leer and a waggle of his bushy gray eyebrows.

Mazzy gave the dwarf an icy stare before pushing ahead to the front.

“Careful, Bloodaxe,” Valygar hollered down from his rocky perch. “Mazzy might be a hand shorter than you, but I'm not.”

“Oho! Yer paltry attempt at a threat does nae frighten me, human. Besides, I was only trying to pay the lady a compliment by letting her know that me eyes can't be tempted away from following the sway of her-”

“You should just stop, Korgan, before you bury yourself deeper,” Imoen chimed in, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle.

“Leave the sweet nothings to the experts, my persistent hound,” Haer’Dalis agreed.

“Expert? I hope you're not referring to yourself, Haer’Dalis,” Imoen replied.

“In fact, I am, my wildflower. You doubt me only because you have not given this poor sparrow a chance to sing you the praises that your beauty and wit deserve.”

“All of this chatter is going to bring anything nearby down on us,” Jaheira interjected.

“It's also going to make me drop a fireball on you simians if you don't stop interrupting my spell memorization!” Edwin snapped, then added in a mumble, “I may just drop one anyway, it would be far more entertaining than trudging through this wasteland, listening to you monkeys.”

“Shut yer whining trap, ye puffed up, pox-ridden, gender confused-”

“Gender confused?! Just because I had one small accident with a nether scroll and had to piss sitting down for a few months-”

“-dress wearing, bat shit smelling-”

“Alright, children, that's enough,” Keldorn sighed as he and Sarevok rejoined the group. “Korgan, you and Anomen take rear-guard now.”

“Ach! Yer goin’ senile if ye think I'm gonna walk with that pompous, bratty, long-winded-”

“Mind your tongue, dwarf,” Anomen snapped.

“This is your disfunctional little family, abbil, shouldn't you intervene?” Viconia asked irritably.

“And deprive myself of the entertainment you all provide me?” Ilyrana answered dryly.

“That's very unleaderlike of you, sis,” Imoen chuckled.

Ilyrana didn't respond, having not heard her half-sister, because her attention was focused, instead, on her half-brother.

She had been avoiding him all day. Had avoided thinking about the earth-shattering conversation they had had only hours ago. Pushing herself to exhaustion by scouting ahead, and falling back to report, trekking further on, then doubling back again. Now, though, as she stood trapped by his gaze, unable to tear her eyes away from his, she realized that he had been _letting_ her run from it. From him. And, that his benevolence was beginning to wear thin.

This sudden epiphany came as his part of their shared soul brushed against hers. Ilyrana shook her head, breaking the stare, and slammed down the shields around her thoughts to block him out.

She wasn't ready for another confrontation with the Deathbringer. Not yet. Not until she could look back on what he had told her and feel nothing. Not until she could convince herself that his touch hadn't briefly stirred something inside her, whether that something was the taint, the soul they shared, or just her reaction to human contact when she so rarely had that nowadays.

Turning, Ilyrana began putting as much distance between them, again, as she could.

 

* * *

 

 

_Sarevok_

 

Sarevok watched Ilyrana turn her back to him and flee. So, the little coward still couldn't face him. He had expected her to have found her spine by now, perhaps he had misjudged the girl yet again.

When she had so foolishly resurrected him, Sarevok vowed not to make the same mistake of underestimating her again. He had watched her, noting the differences in her personality, her morals, her leadership. Differences meaning what he had assumed her to be, or what she may have been once, compared to what she was now.

When he had still been alive, Sarevok thought he had Ilyrana pegged as another self-righteous meddler, much like her foster father, and the Harpers, making every wrong and injustice in the world a personal affront that she could not allow to go unchallenged. Why would he have assumed otherwise?

The whispers of her deeds that trickled into Baldur’s Gate told of a young, and beautiful, elven ranger who was fighting her way up and down the Sword Coast, saving farmers from troublesome ankhegs, rescuing children from gnolls, bringing mad men to justice, ferreting out Mulahey, the supposed perpetrator behind the iron shortage, fetching lost family trinkets, and delivering the scalps of bandits to the Flaming Fist by the dozens. Everything that the average adventurer, with a lust for public approval and an insecurity that can only be assuaged by the songs of their heroic exploits, is made of.

Sarevok may have been correct in that assumption, but Ilyrana had been far more than just another do-gooder, and it wasn't just because of their shared heritage. She had proven to be remarkably resourceful; uncovering his plot to push Baldur’s Gate and Amn into war, finding, and flooding, the hidden mine that had propelled the iron throne, and himself, to the head of political power in the city, escaping every assassin he had sent after her with apparent ease, discovering that he had had the merchant guilds’ people replaced with obedient doppelgangers, and so much more.

She had done all of this with only a small circle of mismatched companions. No powerful organization to back her, no network of spies and loyal followers, and no knowledge of the prophecy or of her divine parentage. All of this, Sarevok had possessed, and more. Yet, he had watched as all of his carefully laid plans, years of work, crumbled around him.

It still galled him, remembering his defeat. The resentment and hate that he still carried had been his only sources of comfort in the abyss.

Images of Ilyrana dying with his hands around her pretty throat would keep the tiny spark of his will, all that was left of him, alight in the yawning darkness of the void.

Allowing the agony of his eternal damnation to fuel the need for vengeance against the one whom he had once deeply cared for, who went on to be gently, lovingly raised by the very man who had torn the two of them apart, leaving Sarevok alone, unable to remember anything more than his name, to beg for food from strangers until he eventually caught the attention of Rieltar Anchev.

Rieltar, who had adopted Sarevok into the iron throne, given him a home, an education, wealth, and a stepmother who doted upon him. Rieltar, who, one night, in a fit of rage over something Sarevok couldn't remember, began beating his stepmother in front of him when he was still a child. Rieltar, who hadn't been pleased when Sarevok tried to protect the woman who had shown the boy more kindness and love than anyone he could remember, and decided to teach the child a lesson in disloyalty by taking a cord of leather, wrapping it once around her throat, and pulling with all his strength. Rieltar, who had forced Sarevok to watch his stepmother be garroted, then lashed the boy with the same piece of leather, until there was almost no skin left on his back.

Sarevok’s thoughts were interrupted by the reappearance of Ilyrana.

“Hot springs, half a mile ahead, unless you guys wanna keep going-”

“Hot springs? Of course we're stopping for that. Merc army be damned, I need a bath, outta my way,” Imoen began elbowing her way to the front of the pack.

 _She's calling a stop already?_ Sarevok thought, disbelieving, until he noticed how long the shadows had become, and the indigo and rose that now streaked the darkening sky. He cursed himself for his inattention.

Ilyrana dropped from the shelf of rock above them, landing with hardly a sound, and began walking with her sister. Sarevok continued to trail at the back of the group, preferring to observe the inane interactions of the motley assortment of races, alignments, and varying degrees of ineptitude that were his sister’s companions.

He watched her, his face a mask of indifference tinged with boredom, the mask he had donned so often at political functions in Baldur’s Gate. Ilyrana’s hand absently went to one of the small knives she kept tucked into the laces of her thigh high boots, pulling the blade free from the leather and beginning to twirl it between her fingers. She did this when she was lost in thought, or agitated, he had noted. The cotton shirt she wore, the same one she had been wearing last night, since the appearance of a small army necessitated the swift return to their journey, hung loosely on her slender frame, one sleeve fallen from her shoulder. Her long hair was tied up in a high tail, so Sarevok could clearly see three of the silver X-shaped scars that were cut down her back, the top one sitting just below the back of her neck, and the other two descending in a line down past the back of her shirt.

There were twelve of those scars cut into Ilyrana’s spine. Sarevok had counted them as he watched Irenicus carve them into her pale skin, unable to intervene or turn away, trapped in the dream that was a flashback of what the mage had done to her.

He knew that the reason he had shared her dream was their shared soul. That was obvious. He also knew that those scars were nothing but ornamentation compared to the ones burned into her thighs.

In his youth, Sarevok studied the art of intimidation, and the cruelest and most brutal styles of combat in order to become a Deathbringer, a powerful warrior possessing the ability to paralyze an opponent in melee battle through fear alone, as well as to kill the most powerful of opponents in a single, massive blow. He had sought out, and received, training to become versed in nearly all known forms of torture. His own back was completely covered in scars from his stepfather’s infrequent scourging when he was a child. Sarevok had still found it difficult to watch what Irenicus had done to Ilyrana.

Even in his most fevered fantasies of exacting his revenge on the girl, during his time in the abyss, Sarevok had never once allowed himself to imagine raping her. He had seen enough of it, growing up with Rieltar, to be repulsed by the mere thought of it. Had, in fact, executed men who were loyal to him for doing it. The fact that it had happened, because she had been too weak to resist capture, was due to the wound he had inflicted upon her during their fight. Which meant that what had been done to her, all of it, was partly his own fault. He wasn't an altruistic man, nor was he a masochist, so he didn't enjoy the discomfort that shouldering that kind of blame brought, but he couldn't stop thinking about it.

_“I hadn't healed, because I was dying. Of sorrow. Because, watching you die, as I remembered the first several years of my life, and you, who was the only good part of that time, made me want to die as well.”_

There it was. Those few sentences that made it nearly impossible for Sarevok to just shrug off what he had seen in the dream. Made it so that he couldn't, instead, take what he had learned, and fashion it into a weapon to be used against her. He could use that information to begin gaining her trust. Get close to her. Get her far enough away from those who protected her. Get his hands on her long enough to snap her neck, ensuring she died too fast to summon the Slayer. It was all there, the plan laid out before him, the only part missing was his desire to do it. That, and, when imagining his hands on her, it took an annoying effort of will to focus on the thought of killing, rather than exploring.

Before he could push those thoughts from his mind, Sarevok remembered the last few moments from the previous night. The way her amber eyes reflected the candlelight, looking haunted, yet still she managed to look proud and angry. The softness of her skin beneath his fingers, discernible even with as little contact as he actually made. It was her scent, though, that plagued him.

He remembered it from when they were children, laying on the branch of a tree, watching the moonrise, his arms wrapped protectively around her, and her head resting on his shoulder. Wrapped in a frayed, thin blanket, they shared their warmth, and their dreams, as they pretended they were anywhere other than trapped inside the temple walls of a cult of Bhaal, high up in the boughs of the Tree of Life in Suldanessellar, or atop the crow’s nest of their very own pirate ship, perhaps.

After she'd fall asleep, full of whatever meager food he managed to scrounge up for her, he would rest his nose against the top of her head and breathe deeply, inhaling the exotic scent that was unique to her alone, some combination of jasmine, orchids, and other night blooming flowers. It would soothe him, calm him enough to get a few hours rest beside her. It would linger on his clothes, his hands, so that, when Ilyrana’s mother took her away from him, he could find some shred of comfort in her smell until she snuck back to him.

Alianna, her mother, had despised Sarevok, loathed the human boy who had fixated on her elven daughter. She would vow that he would be the first child sent to their father, when the time came for the sacrifices, vowed that she would be given the honor of cutting his throat from the High Priest who oversaw the temple and it's inhabitants. One of the many reasons he had hated that woman far more than she had hated him was the _reason_ behind why the High Priest might bestow any honors upon her.

High Priest Jorval was a manipulative old man who had a taste for young flesh. He had convinced some of the mothers that Bhaal would show them favor, after his resurrection, for allowing their daughters to be “blessed” by him before they were to be sacrificed.

Alianna had been insane. Some days she challenged the High Priest and his obvious ploy to sate his sick desires. Other days, Sarevok had to fight her, tooth and nail, to get Ilyrana away from her before she could bring her daughter before Jorval, so desperate was the woman for her beloved god’s favor. The hypocrisy of not wanting a human child near Ilyrana, but allowing a grown human male to have her had not been lost on him. Sarevok had succeeded, though, that was all that had mattered. The High Priest never touched Ilyrana.

A shift in the wind brought the very scent that he had been dwelling on to him. Clenching his fists, he tried to ignore it, and the memories it conjured, even as he couldn't help but notice the difference that he had noticed last night, the slight change in the smell from when she was a child. There was a muskiness to the orchids and jasmine, now, and it did _not_ calm him as it once had. It did, in fact, have quite the opposite effect.

He needed to end her soon, before his need for vengeance turned into a very different kind of need. Before she could get any deeper under his skin, and rule him as she once had, unknowingly, as a child.


	5. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet. 
> 
> Haven't slept much.
> 
> I regret nothing.

Just as the sun finished sinking behind the horizon, Ilyrana and company arrived at the hot springs. Pools of steaming water dotted the vicinity, six in total, each one a different depth. The area was surrounded on three sides by towering slabs of pale pink granite and littered with more rocks and a few dead trees.

They began setting up camp, laying out bedrolls and making a fire after deeming it safe to do so since the light it cast couldn't be seen from anywhere except the path that had led to this spot.

Mazzy and Jaheira were the first ones to take watch, and they settled themselves against a fallen tree, facing the path, nursing mugs of hot spiced wine.

Ilyrana gave a lustful glance at the clear blue water of the closest pool, and the steam rising from it, before sighing and climbing up the lowest wall of stone to keep watch from above, until one of the others came to relieve her after their turn in the pools. Her eyes briefly swept over the darkened landscape, glinting red as her infravision kicked in, searching for any nearby threats. Seeing only the vague heat signature of a rodent a few yards away, Ilyrana sat down with a groan.

The night air was cooling quickly, and the winds that swept through the small canyons between the rocks were beginning to bite, despite the warmth rising from the springs. Fumbling with the ties to the small, purple Bag of Holding that was fastened to her belt, Ilyrana reached down, almost to her shoulder, into the fist-sized purse. Cursing as something sharp cut her thumb, she vowed for perhaps the hundredth time in as many days to go through and organize this thing the next time she had more than a few minutes to spare. Truthfully, though, the idea of upending the ingenious little bag, which she had had since Spellhold, so about a year and a half, terrified her.

At last, Ilyrana felt the blanket of wolf hide and carefully pulled it free, making sure to retie the strings of the Bag of Holding lest it spill out suits of armor, weapons racks, or who knows what else she had stuck down in there, either because she wanted to hold onto something, she was testing the limits of the enchanted pouch, or she had been drunk and found it amusing to stick random objects into it so sober Ilyrana could be completely bewildered at finding a petrified cat or an entire cooked goose inside it the next time she looked for something.

Wrapping the warm furs around her shoulders, Ilyrana stretched out on her back, and looked up at the starry sky. She knew which thoughts would begin to demand her attention almost immediately, so she didn't fight them when they came. She had run from them all day, far longer if she was being honest with herself, and she couldn't afford to do so anymore.

Looking up at the expanse of night, listening to the wind and her companions’ voices below, Ilyrana let her mind drift where it may.

 

* * *

 

 

She had been, perhaps, six or seven when she and Sarevok, who was probably around ten or twelve, became friends. Before that, the quiet, watchful, angry boy had never spoken to her, or to any of the other children who lived at the temple with their mothers and the priests of Bhaal. She would catch him staring at her quite a lot, and he would always look sharply away the second their eyes met, as if he were afraid that she would bewitch him if they stared at one another too long.

Growing up within a Cult dedicated to waiting for their God to die, as prophesied, so they could then begin butchering his children, which would eventually bring him back, was even worse than it sounded. It meant, for one, that Ilyrana and her half-siblings only needed to be alive for a few short years after they had been born or brought to the temple. So, their well-being and happiness meant nothing. Secondly, it didn't matter much if any of them _did_ die before their father did, as there were so many, that the loss of such a miniscule amount of divine essence was unimportant.

The priests who cared for the temple, and it's members, laid out three meals a day inside the inner courtyard, one of the many places the children weren't permitted to enter. Whether it was because food was short, they forgot, or they just didn't care, which was likeliest, the priests didn't set out food for the bhaalspawn. Their mothers would bring them back loaves of bread, chunks of cheese, and various dried or fresh fruits, meats, and nuts from the tables when they returned from the sanctums of worship. At least, some of them did, some of the time.

The most common way Ilyrana got to eat was when one of the mothers would throw pieces of food outside onto the grass, or inside one of the chapels that the children weren’t barred from. She was fast, able to dart in, grab a fistful of bread, or an apple core, and dart back out before being crushed by her half-siblings, or kicked by one of the mothers who brought them food just to watch them tear each other apart to eat it. The problem, though, was that she was one of the smallest ones there, aside from the babies. If she didn’t get whatever bit of food she could get ahold of into her mouth as quickly as possible, it would be stolen from her, knocked out of her hands, or dropped when she as booted in the stomach, or back handed across the face. Her mother, in her madness, rarely ate at all herself, let alone brought her daughter anything from the tables.

Sarevok, unsurprisingly, was one of the biggest children there, and one of the oldest. Not to mention the strongest, cunningest, and fiercest. Yet, he rarely stuck around to brawl with his siblings over as many scraps as he could get, choosing instead to snatch up what he wanted, and biting, kicking, punching, and elbowing anyone slow or stupid enough not to get out of his way. Ilyrana had avoided him at all costs when there was food about, knowing damn well that she didn’t stand a chance of stealing food from him or escaping unscathed if he jumped into the melee while she was there. At least, she avoided him until, one day, when her stomach was cramping so much from having gone days without a single bite of food, one of the mothers was spotted leaning against a marble column outside, lazily flipping a loaf of bread end over end in her hand.

The heartless woman waited until a sizeable enough crowd of children had begun to gather, each of them skulking closer to her, and farther away from each other, having already begun sensing the taint within each other, even if they didn’t know its meaning, so that none of them trusted another enough to team up. Once there were eight of them spread out around her, hollow, ravenous eyes of varying colors flicking up and down as they followed the life-giving bread in her hand, did she take the entire loaf, not bothering to tear it into pieces to prolong her cruel little game, and throw it.

Ilyrana didn’t glance around at her kin, noting which ones would be more likely to reach the bread before her, or marking the ones she could more easily steal the bread from if they got to it before she did. These were survival tactics she had developed in order to maximize her chances of eating and minimize the injuries she would receive in the process. Desperation, though, overrode prudence, as this was the closest she had been to starvation thus far. Tearing after the bread, her limbs weak, heart already pounding harder than it should be, Ilyrana could think of nothing but eating, see nothing but the golden crust of the loaf spinning through the air.

A cry of dismay, and rage, went up from her, and the others, as Sarevok caught the loaf, and turned to face his charging siblings, his own snarl of rage meeting theirs. Three of the smaller ones stumbled to a stop and began making their way back to the mother, who may have had more food that they would have a better chance of getting to eat. The remaining three, a human boy, half-elven boy, and half-elven girl, all launched themselves, almost simultaneously, at the older, bronze skinned boy.

The ensuing fight had been vicious, even by the usual standards. Rarely did they ever gang up on one another, none of them willing to trust that much. This time, though, the three must have realized that their odds were better if they incapacitated Sarevok, then fought amongst themselves. Ilyrana hovered nearby, eyes snapping from the bread lying temporarily forgotten in the grass to the snarling whirlwind of limbs and teeth that raged around it. Too risky. She had seen a girl larger than herself get elbowed in the face by Sarevok during a previous fight for food, and Ilyrana reasoned that it must be hard to eat without any teeth to chew with, so she continued to hang back, watching.

It was hard to tell who was winning the battle, but Ilyrana assumed it probably wouldn’t be Sarevok this time, so she was surprised when she heard a loud _crack_ followed by a scream of pain. The half-elven boy slumped to the ground, cradling his arm. The remaining combatants didn’t seem to notice as they stumbled over him, still fighting. The injured boy rolled out of their way, crying from the pain, and froze as he saw the loaf of bread, slightly squashed, sitting just in front of him. Ilyrana gave a wordless cry as she watched the half-elf snatch it in his good arm and start to run. Hearing her shout, Sarevok turned, caught sight of what was happening, and dove for the boy’s feet, knocking him back to the ground.

Ilyrana didn’t remember telling her muscles to move, so it took her a second to realize she was in motion, sprinting towards the bread that had tumbled out of the boy’s hands. Just as her fingers were mere inches away from grabbing it, strong arms wrapped around her neck and jerked her back, throwing her roughly into the grass. The other human boy. He fell atop her, pinning her to the ground with his weight, and began driving his fists into her ribs. He only got two hits in before he was yanked off of her. Not caring who had saved her, Ilyrana turned onto her stomach, gasping for breath and from the pain in her torso, and began to crawl back towards where the bread lay, ignoring the others behind her. A shadow fell across the bread, and, without thinking, Ilyrana rolled sharply to the side, barely missing the half-elven girl’s kick to her head.

With a feral growl of fury, Ilyrana lunged at the other girl, wrapping her arms and legs around her, and sank her teeth into her upper arm. Screaming, her sibling threw herself heavily to the ground, landing atop Ilyrana in hopes of dislodging the smaller girl. It worked. The breath knocked out of her, all Ilyrana could do was gasp for air and watch the other girl’s foot come speeding towards her ribs. She turned to the side and took the blow in the back, then braced for the next kick. It didn’t come.

The half-elven girl hit the ground hard when Sarevok tackled her from behind. Ilyrana weakly tried getting to her feet, chest still heaving to get enough air into her lungs, eyes frantically seeking out the bread. She saw, instead, the other human boy limping towards Sarevok, a jagged rock held tightly in his hand. A quick glance around and there was still no sign of the bread, but she did catch a glimpse of the half-elf boy staggering back towards the temple, one arm hanging uselessly, and no bread clasped in the other. Turning her attention back to the others, she watched the boy advance slowly towards Sarevok, who’s back was to him as he was busy knocking the half-elven girl unconscious, or killing her, Ilyrana couldn’t tell from this angle.

The logical thing to do was let the boy kill Sarevok, as Sarevok was a much bigger threat than the others. Just as she took a step away, she saw the bread, sitting on the other side of the girl. Ilyrana had an idea.

“Behind!” She screamed.

Sarevok surged to his feet and turned, just in time to catch the other boy’s wrist in his hand, and keeping that rock from striking him in the head. Ilyrana darted forward, dove over the prone, bloody half-elf, and grabbed the bread. Tucking it against her chest, she rolled, sprang back up, and kept running.

Fear kept her moving forward. The girl wasn't going to be getting back up, soon or ever, and Ilyrana doubted that the other boy could take Sarevok alone, even if they were both tired and injured.

She could see the outer wall of stone that ringed the temple grounds now. Heading for one of the trees that grew right up beside the wall, Ilyrana brought the loaf of bread up to her mouth and bit into it, holding it partially between her teeth, leaving her hands free. The buttery taste of the bread, even mingled with the dirt and blood that covered most of it, made her mouth water.

Leaping up to grab a low branch, Ilyrana began to scramble up the tree until she was level with the top of the wall, then leapt onto it. Taking the bread back to hand, and gulping down the soggy bit that had been in her mouth, she looked back.

The girl was sprawled on her back, face bloodied to the point of being unrecognizable. Ilyrana couldn't tell from this distance if she was breathing. What made her stomach want to bring up that one meager chunk of bread, though, was seeing Sarevok bash the other boy across the face with the jagged rock. He fell, and Sarevok followed him down, striking him again with the rock. The sound of the impact was almost loud enough to feel.

Ilyrana was frozen atop the wall. Jumping down on the other side meant possible safety from Sarevok, albeit at the price of exposure; there was little protection to be found inside the walls, but none outside of them. On the other hand, she could run along the relative safety of the wall, about ten feet from the ground, until she reached somewhere she could hide, and eat the bread that might have cost at least one of her sibling’s lives.

A shiver went through her small, starved body when Sarevok suddenly looked up from beating the other boy’s head in and locked his eyes onto her. She couldn't read his expression from this far away, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the bloody rock gripped in his right hand, the two still children, and him rising slowly to his feet.

Terror made Ilyrana turn and jump, rolling as she landed on the hard ground below, her need to escape blotting out reason and logic. She collapsed when she first tried to rise, fatigue, malnutrition, and her injuries finally beginning to best her strength of will. Fear, though, was now her ally, pumping adrenaline through her, giving her the borrowed energy she needed to flee across the field that stretched out around the temple.

Across the field was a strand of trees, possibly a forest, she couldn't tell in the dying light of dusk that was settling around her. She didn't look behind her to see if Sarevok had found a way to clear the wall in pursuit, was too afraid to do anything other than run as fast as her exhausted body could go, the barely recognizable loaf of bread clutched tightly in one hand. She had never been outside the walls, only atop them, and so had no way of knowing what might be waiting in the growing dark ahead. To her young mind, though, nothing could be worse than what lay behind her. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Sis!”

Ilyrana jumped, her hands flying to the knives sheathed on each hip, or trying to, as they tangled in the furs wrapped around her.

“Woah there, it's just me,” Imoen soothed as she plopped down next to her. “What's got you all jumpy? Didja see something? Or didja fall asleep on watch? You did, didn't you, lazybones?”

“No,” Ilyrana grumbled as she sat up. “Lost in thought.”

“Uh huh. Well, I brought you some dinner.”

Ilyrana took the hot bowl of stew and slice of sourdough from Imoen, set them on the ground in front of her, and snatched the more important thing.

“Make sure and leave some room for the stew, drunkard,” Imoen snorted as Ilyrana uncorked the skin of spiced wine and began draining it.

“Yes, mother.”

“Psh. Anyway, you gonna come down and soak with me? Or you wanna lay up here, ‘ _not_ _sleeping_ ’, not keeping watch, and smelling like a kobold?”

“I don't smell like a kobold,” Ilyrana replied tartly, taking another swallow of the wine, savoring the heat and the taste of cloves, cinnamon, and mumbleberries.

“Naw, you just look like one, what with the shortness, and the beady eyes, and all.”

“Watch it, sis, or your knees are mine,” Ilyrana growled, trying to sound menacing, and failing, as evidenced by Imoen nearly choking on her own skin of wine.

“Alright, alright, but are you coming or not?”

“Later, when someone comes up to take watch, unless you're here to do that.”

“Nope. I didn't draw any watches for once, so I'm going to spend all night turning myself into a prune.”

“With or without Haer’Dalis?” Ilyrana asked slyly, hiding her smirk behind another drag on her wineskin.

“Excuse me?! Without, bufflehead! Where did that question come from?!”

“The fact that you two have been arguing over every little thing, like an old married couple,” Ilyrana explained, then cutting off Imoen’s response by continuing, “and the teasing, and the mutual hair-braiding, which is adorable by the way, and-”

“ _Okay_ ,” Imoen loudly interrupted. “First off, he's actually really good at braiding hair, far better than you, and far more willing than Jaheira. Second, I tease everyone. Third, if you're going to use constant arguing as an indicator of attraction, then I expect you and Sarevok’s handfast announcement any day now.”

Now it was Ilyrana’s turn to sputter.

“Um, I would think that disagreeing with our former enemy is very different from having a shouting match over whether the table in the inn we previously stayed at was, in fact, mahogany.”

“‘ _Former_ ’ enemy, huh?” Imoen smirked.

 **“** _You know what I meant_ ,” Ilyrana growled through clenched teeth.

“Uh huh. No need to get so worked up. I get it, you know, his appeal. The tall, dark, and terrifying thing. He's our half-brother, kind of, I think, but hey, if that's your kink-”

“If you don't cease speaking, I'm going to throttle you.”

“Well, then, don't imply I want Haer’Dalis.”

Ilyrana opened her mouth to reply, but stopped herself. If her sister didn't want to admit the obvious, she wasn't going to force her. And she sure as Hell did not feel comfortable having it suggested that she was attracted to Sarevok.

Especially after last night, when she still couldn't look at him without remembering _everything_ from that conversation. Especially when she simultaneously wanted to never speak to him again, and wanting to go down there and find out why he said it would have mattered, _did_ matter, that they talked about when they had remembered everything.

Why couldn't she let this go? Pursuing answers would only hurt, not to mention give him more power over her than he already had with the practically one-sided effects of sharing a soul. She didn't dream his dreams, which was a plus, Ilyrana thought, but being able to see hers was too effective a weapon for him to have.

“Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to make you pout,” Imoen said, bringing Ilyrana back to the now. “It's just, I _guess_ Haer’Dalis is cute, and charming, when he wants to be, but I've seen him flirt with tons of women, so I have no illusions about what he's after.”

“I'm not pouting,” Ilyrana sighed wearily, picking up her rapidly cooling bowl of stew and playing with the spoon. “I get what you're saying, about him being a flirt, but you should see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. I'm pretty sure if he thought of you as just another potential notch on his belt, he would have surrendered and sought lower hanging fruit by now.”

Imoen blushed and looked away, taking a long pull from her wineskin.

“Doesn't mean anything,” she said after a moment. “I'm gorgeous, so it's no surprise he likes to look at me.”

“Of course, dear,” Ilyrana replied in a  patronizing tone, and getting an elbow in the ribs for it. “Seriously, though, you can lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me. There's something there. Not saying you should act on it, but at least acknowledge it.”

Imoen got to her feet, raking her fingers through her shoulder-length red hair, and took one last sip of spiced wine, before turning to climb back down.

“I'm not gonna acknowledge anything until you do, Rana.” Imoen chirped from the ground.

Ilyrana closed her eyes, took a deep breath, counted to three, exhaled, and focused on her food, deciding to pretend she hadn't heard her sister. The stew, though cold now, was still good. Chunks of venison, potato, onion, and carrot disappeared as Ilyrana stared out into the night, her mind already beginning to gently tug her back to its previous attentions.

Picking up the hunk of sourdough that they had bought at the inn, Ilyrana started to shred it, but stopped herself. Flipping the bread deftly into the air and catching it, Ilyrana then hurled it out into the black. Placing her half-finished bowl down, she picked the wineskin back up and drained the rest of it, before settling back down and returning to her memories.

 

* * *

 

 

Humid days gave way to near freezing nights. The kind where the grass would crunch beneath your feet in the morning, the dew forming a thin, fragile layer of ice over everything, and would melt away at the first glimpse of the sun.

Ilyrana had reached the forest just as night fell. Tripping over upraised roots, her eyes switching from normal to infravision uncontrollably in her panic, she made her way deep into the wood. Smacking her forehead into a branch, she blindly grabbed onto it, tested its sturdiness, then hopped up onto it and began shimmying up. The ancient live oak’s bottom-most branches hung nearly to the forest floor, and gracefully rose up higher, providing Ilyrana the perfect means of hiding.

Huddling atop the wide wooden limb, with her back resting against the trunk, she finally began to eat the bread. At this point, after being stepped on, kicked, bled upon, crushed in her hands, and everything else that had happened to the loaf, it should have tasted nasty. It would have, anyway, if Ilyrana hadn't been starving. Ignoring the grit and the strong coppery tang of her siblings’ blood, she devoured the food, nearly choking as she shoveled in bite after bite, trying to eat all of it before it was taken away from her somehow.

Once the last crumb had disappeared, thirst began to set it. She ignored this particular need, as she could find water easily enough in the morning. For now, she was full, for the first time in days, and almost certainly for more days to come, so she savored it. The dropping temperature demanded her attention, but it was another thing that she could do nothing about tonight. Wrapping her skinny arms around herself, and curling up into as small a ball as she could manage, she tried to concentrate on falling asleep.

After what felt like only seconds, Ilyrana’s eyes cracked open, her heart hammering as the prey instinct of being watched by a predator roused her to consciousness. It was still night, only a few hours had passed. The moon hung behind clouds which hung behind the trees, so it should have been pitch black, would have been, if not for the green luminescent glow emitted by colonies of foxfire mushrooms growing sporadically across the trunks and branches of the tree she was in and the ones surrounding it. This immediately caught her attention, and the initial feeling of nearby danger was temporarily forgotten. Slowly sitting up to a sitting position, her arms shaking from cold and exhaustion, Ilyrana looked around at the softly lit fungus, eyes wide with the childish delight of discovery.

As her eyes swept from left to right, lingering on each emerald green cluster, she almost missed what was sitting only several feet in front of her. A small sound of denial, and terror, escaped her throat as she locked eyes with Sarevok. He sat just out of arm’s reach, legs folded beneath him, watching her. Ilyrana cowered back against the trunk of the tree, eyes wide, shudders of fear and cold wracking her small form. She wasn’t in any condition to try and flee, and attempting to fight him was pointless.

The night seemed to hold its breath. The sounds of the forest died away, the insects’ songs, the muted calls of nocturnal animals. Even the rustling of the leaves faded, as if the very wind itself didn’t want to miss what was about to happen. The ensuing silence was deafening.

With deliberate slowness, Sarevok reached behind himself, his gaze still fixed on her. Ilyrana tensed, torn between wanting to see what he was grasping for and _not_ wanting to see, as images of that bloody rock flashed through her mind. Curiosity won out, as she flicked her eyes down to the shadowy bundle he brought out from behind his back. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she realized what it was.

Still moving as if he were afraid she would bolt at any second, Sarevok extended his arm out to her, a ragged blue blanket hanging from his hand. Ilyrana looked back into his eyes, trying to decipher this gesture of kindness, which was alien to her. It took her a moment to notice that he was meeting her eyes, rather than looking away as he always did before. Hesitantly, she took the blanket from him. He folded his arms and broke their stare, turning his attention to the foxfire mushrooms that she had been studying earlier. The blanket was big enough to swallow her as she wrapped the scratchy material around herself, he must have stolen it from one of the priests, or maybe the mothers, as his own was dead.

“Thank you,” Ilyrana whispered, the words nearly lost in the chilly breeze that suddenly picked back up again.

Sarevok shrugged, still looking at the mushrooms.

“Why?” Ilyrana asked after it became apparent he wasn’t going to explain himself.

“Why what?” Sarevok asked, clearing his throat before getting the words out, obviously unaccustomed to speaking.

“Why give me this?”

“You were cold.”

Ilyrana nearly huffed at his answer, which was spoken as if it should have been obvious, which, to her, it hadn’t been.

“So?”

“So what?”

“So, why do you care that I was cold?”

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

Now, Ilyrana did huff. Conversing with him felt strange. Conversing, _at all,_  with anyone, felt even stranger. His evasive replies irritated her just as much as they thrilled her, because it meant she could keep talking.  

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“ _What_?” His voice a mix of confusion and anger. “Why would I bring you a blanket if I was going to hurt you?”

“Why would you kill those two kids for a piece of bread that I ended up eating and not come here to hurt me?”

“I didn’t kill them.”

“Oh.” Ilyrana didn’t know how to feel about this news. On the one hand, if he _had_ killed them, it would have meant less competition for food. On the other, hearing they were still alive made him seem less scary.

“Besides,” Sarevok continued, “I was going to give you the bread anyway.”

“Really? Why?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?”

“I don't usually get to ask anybody anything,” she admitted with a shrug. “Do you always answer questions with more questions?”

“And if I do?” He asked, his eyes shining with amusement.

Ilyrana huffed again, which earned her what sounded like a chuckle from him, though it was clear that laughter didn't come naturally to him. It made her smile a little, something foreign to her, as well.

The wind picked up, and would have set her teeth to chattering if not for the blanket. Sarevok, though, who was wearing threadbare linen trousers and tunic, shivered.

“Do you…” Ilyrana started to say, the words coming out before she had decided to speak them. Clearing her throat shyly, she went on. “Do you wanna share the blanket? It _is_ yours.”

Sarevok shifted his weight uncomfortably, not meeting her eyes.

“The blanket is yours now.”

Pleasure shot through her, warming her almost as much as the blanket. She had never been gifted something before. Especially something so valuable. The joy of the sensation made her bold.

“Well, then, I will allow you to share it with me.”

Sarevok’s lips quirked at the magnanimous tone of her words as he rose to obey, closing the short distance between them and settling beside her. Grasping both ends of the blanket, he made sure they were both fully enfolded, not a difficult feat, as the blanket was for a full-sized bed and Ilyrana was so small.

He went completely still as she hesitantly snuggled into his side, her head coming to gently rest against his upper arm. Ilyrana let out a long sigh, enjoying the unfamiliar feeling of being cocooned in warmth, and the even more unfamiliar feeling of physical contact that didn't end in pain. At least, she sincerely hoped it wouldn't.

“If I ask you why you're being nice to me, will you answer?”

“Probably not.”

His chuckle was louder this time at her huff of indignation. The sound made Ilyrana snuggle closer to him. After a long moment, when Sarevok thought she had nodded off, Ilyrana yawned, nuzzled his arm, and drowsily spoke one last time before succumbing to sleep.

“You're not so bad. Think I'll keep you.”

 

* * *

 

Ilyrana’s chest ached as she recalled her happiness at receiving the blanket, and the wondrous sensation of affection, which she hadn't known existed before then. The irony of learning that concept with Sarevok, of all people, was equally funny and uncomfortable.

Hearing footsteps approaching her perch, she sat up, this time gracefully extracting her arms from her furs.

“Hey, you, I'll take over if you want,” Valygar said as he hauled himself up next to her.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, this is as clean as I'm likely to get.”

“No,” Ilyrana snorted. “I mean, you took watch last night and ranged with me all day today, you should get some sleep. Let someone else take this shift.”

“It's fine, I doubt I'll get much rest anyway.”

“You two fighting again?”

“Yes. No. I don't know,” Valygar growled, running his hands over his tired face. “It's not so much that we haven't been seeing eye-to-eye, it's that she doesn't seem to want me close to her.”

“Have you guys slept together, yet?” Ilyrana asked, plucking Valygar’s wineskin from his belt and taking a swallow.

“Rana, that's not any of your business.”

“That's a ‘no’, then. Maybe she wants to, but feels guilty about wanting to.”

“Wait, slow down. Why would Jaheira feel guilty…” his shoulders slumped a little as the obvious sank in, “Oh.”

“Oh,” Ilyrana echoed in agreement, taking another generous swallow of wine.

Valygar sighed, extracted his wineskin from her reluctant grasp, and gulped some of its contents down.

“I hadn't thought of that, and I should have. I guess I forgot because she never talks about him, Khalid, and I wasn't there, you know, before.”

“Jaheira’s not very good at opening up and being vulnerable, in case you haven't noticed,” Ilyrana drawled sarcastically.

“That's hilarious coming from you,” the ranger pointed out with a sad smile.

“Yeah, well…” Ilyrana trailed off, stealing the wine back and avoiding his look.

Raised voices cut through the night, slightly muted from distance.

“If you don't stop tuning that damned lute, I'm going to come over there and break it over your damned head!” Imoen yelled from one of the pools.

“Ah, my feisty water bug, if that means I get to watch you stomp indignantly over here, naked, tis a fate I will happily endure,” Haer’Dalis hollered back from the campsite.

“And, they don't seem to be faring much better,” Ilyrana quipped.

“Indeed,” Valygar agreed, shaking his head in bemusement before turning to look at her. “Look, I don't mean to pry, but what I walked in on last night-”

“You didn't ‘ _walk in on' anything_. We were having a disagreement. Shocking, I know.”

“But in the middle of the night? Alone in your room?”

“What, exactly, are you implying, Valygar?” Ilyrana asked icily.

“Not what you seem to think I am. I'm asking this only because I worry about you. Being alone with him, when no one else is nearby or awake, is dangerous. Especially with _both_ of your tempers up.”

“Gods, you sound like Jaheira.”

“Rana, please. As your friend, will you at least tell me if he did something that I'm going to have to kill him for? With my bow. From hundreds of yards away.”

Valygar’s attempt at keeping things light was undermined by the concern in his voice.

“I thought you liked him?” She asked.

“Sarevok? Sure. He’s more violent than the rangers I was close to back home, and seems to enjoy killing a helluva lot more than is decent, but I prefer his company to most of the others,” Valygar shrugged. “I also don't think he's going to betray you, despite what Jaheira thinks.”

“So, why are you worried?”

“Because the two of you have trouble controlling your anger. Especially when it comes to each other. Sometimes it seems like you're both beginning to let the past go, but then suddenly realize that that means not hating each other. And that scares you. Both of you.”

Ilyrana looked away. Damn if the ranger wasn't perceptive. She thought about unburdening herself to Valygar. Telling him everything. It would probably be a relief, Ilyrana was pretty sure, but the thought of it made her nauseous. Maybe another time, when it wasn't so fresh.

“I don't really wanna talk about it,” she whispered.

“Alright. Word of advice, though?” He waited for her nod of assent. “I understand, better than most, how easy it is to hold onto hate. You need to decide to forgive him, and he you, and then let it go. Or, don't, and keep hating each other, gods know you have your reasons for it. But, pick one, and stick with your decision.”

Ilyrana couldn't help but think of how Valygar had come by that kind of wisdom. Of his family, the Corthalas, that had all been born with powerful magical talents. And had all succumbed to their “gifts” by way of obsession that eventually led to a gruesome end. All except Valygar, who was the last of his line.

“Why you gotta be all reasonable and understanding?” She asked, aiming for levity.

“Someone has to be.”

Ilyrana snorted, unable to argue with that.

“Now, go bathe. You smell like a kobold.”


	6. The Die is Cast

_Ilyrana_

 

The night grew steadily chillier as the half moon trekked across the starry skies. The campfire crackled almost defiantly against the crisp air, aided in its mission to provide heat by the steam rising from the hot springs.

Most of Ilyrana’s company was fast asleep, curled up in their furs, enjoying the luxurious feeling of being both clean and warm after a long day of hiking through the rugged terrain. Valygar kept watch atop the nearby granite wall and Keldorn and Sarevok had just taken over Mazzy and Jaheira’s watch over the path leading to their secluded camp.

Ilyrana joined her sister at one of the pools furthest from the camp, the only one with a skeletal tree in front that helped screen them from view. Spending so much time on the road meant there was little to no modesty left among them, but opportunities for any semblance of privacy were coveted. After several minutes, and many vehemently sworn expletives, of digging through her Bag of Holding, Ilyrana finally extracted her small chest of soaps, oils, and lotions and set them out along the edge of the pool.

“Alright, fine, I kind of have a thing for Haer’Dalis. Happy?” Imoen blurted out as Ilyrana finished peeling off her soiled clothes.

“I knew it!” Ilyrana exclaimed triumphantly as she quickly lowered herself into the pool. It was too dark for Imoen to see the scars on her thighs, something she had successfully hidden from her and most of the others, but Ilyrana didn't want to chance it.

Groaning as the hot water chased the chill away, she sat down on a seat of rock,the water coming up to her collarbone, and gave her sulky sister a smirk of victory.

“I have no idea why, maybe it's _because_ we argue all the time, I don't know. Or maybe it's the blue hair. His singing voice is kinda nice, too.”

Snatching a washcloth, Ilyrana lathered it with her cake of soap and began the laborious task of scrubbing layers of sweat and dirt from her skin.

“Well, I mean, it's been awhile, right? So, get it, girl.”

“Yeah, but maybe I'm tired of one-night stands.”

“I would be a little worried by now if you weren't.”

“Hey! What's that supposed to mean?”

“That you're a slut,” Ilyrana turned away to avoid getting near-scalding water splashed in her face by an indignant Imoen, “I'm kidding. Seriously, though, you've never actually tried the relationship thing, maybe it's time you do.”

“You haven't really either, Rana.”

“I'd rather live vicariously through you. That way I get at least some of the enjoyment,but none of the bad sex or the pox.”

“I've never had the pox. That was Edwin.”

“Whatever. I think you should give the tiefling a chance. A _real_ chance.”

“I'll think about it. In the meantime,” Imoen grinned, her blue eyes sparkling mischievously, “I admitted I want Haer’Dalis, now it's your turn.”

Ilyrana could almost hear the steel jaws of the trap slamming shut around her.

“He’s not bad, for a bard, but there's no chemistry there, I'm afraid,” Ilyrana said breezily, feigning ignorance.

“Nice try,” Imoen replied with a cheshire cat grin on her smug face. “But, I won't let you weasel out of this. Now, are you gonna tell me or are you gonna make me ask?”

“There's nothing to tell.”

“Uh huh. Alright, we'll do this the hard way.”

“Imoen-”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you aren't attracted to Sarevok.”

Gritting her teeth, Ilyrana finished with the washcloth and began angrily working the scented cleansing oil through her unruly mass of hair.

“I'm waiting,” Imoen said in a singsong voice, clearly enjoying her sister’s irritation, and completely oblivious to just how much turmoil she was causing.

“Yes, he's attractive, even you can't say he's not,” Ilyrana growled.

“Hey, I'm not gonna argue that at all, but that's not necessarily what I meant. If I thought you were just appreciating all those rippling muscles, or that deep voice, or the scars and tattoos, I wouldn't be bringing this up at all... but it's more than that.”

“You got me. I've always been defenseless in the face of biting sarcasm, taunts, barely veiled threats, and the lack of a conscience. Not to mention our romantic history of upending each other's lives, him nearly killing me, and me actually killing him. Catch me if I swoon.”

“Yeah, I totally get the reasons why you _shouldn't_ be attracted to him, but those don't seem to matter all that much to you,” Imoen countered, then ignored Ilyrana’s outraged snarl and continued, “You two can't seem to stay away from each other, you're both constantly watching the other, I mean, you would think that the last thing either of you would want is to be anywhere near each other, but there's something obviously pulling you to him, and him to you.”

“We _do_ share a soul _,”_ Ilyrana bit out, her eyes beginning to gleam in the moonlight.

“Oh, don't give me that shit,” Imoen snapped. “Tell me I'm wrong about everything I just said. And, don't blame it on the soul thing, 'cause the fact you handed over a piece of it to him, just months after getting it back from Irenicus, says _a lot_ already.”

“What are you trying to accomplish here, Imoen? Why do you want me to want him? I would think the very idea would piss you off or creep you out.”

“I don't want you to want him,” Imoen said softly, all traces of teasing gone now. “He's evil. He butchered the man who raised us. He almost took you from me. _So, you give him part of your soul?_ He's brazenly admitted to plotting your death. He watches your every move, waiting for a chance to take his revenge. He tries to bait the others to attack him so he can justify killing them. Yet, _he's here with us, a part of our group?_ Oh, and I know that none of us bhaalspawn are technically related, Bhaal took on tons of different forms when he started fathering us, and you two aren't even the same race, so don't try and make that out to be the issue here.”

Ilyrana stared at Imoen, watching the sharp intellect, coupled with the bitterness she had obviously been holding in, bleed through her facade of silliness and mischief. She felt a little stupid, and ashamed, that she thought Imoen wouldn't see through her deflections. It was easy to forget just how clever she was. For most people, becoming a mage took years of study and rigorous mental discipline. For Imoen, she had begun wielding magic just as they left Baldur’s Gate, having only studied a fortnight, and never having shown the smallest interest or talent in the years prior, else Gorion would have trained her himself.

Just as before, with Valygar, Ilyrana played with the idea of telling Imoen everything, or close to everything. The thought still made her sick. She felt like a god was giving her these opportunities to unburden herself, and by rejecting them she would end up sorely lamenting it later. Imoen would understand, if she explained her and Sarevok’s childhood, and the return of those memories. She would understand _now._ Later, though? After Ilyrana had the chance to explain, but didn't? She opened her mouth, tasting the words, and found them unpalatable.

_Not yet. Please, let there be another chance to explain, 'cause I just can't do it yet._

“Listen to me, Im. I traded a piece of my soul for information that I required. About the prophecy. I agreed to let Sarevok join us because, at least this way, I can keep him in check. I watch him because I don't trust him, not because I lust after him. I assume he watches me for the same reason. Do I wish he'd wake up and realize he's going to end up right back in the Abyss if he doesn't change? Yes, I do. It would be a waste of that fraction of my soul otherwise. Please, can you stop trying to set me up to admit something I don't feel? I mean, do you _really_ think I would want him after _everything_ he did to me?”

Ilyrana realized how much it sounded like she was trying to convince herself just as much as she was trying to convince her sister. Maybe she was. At least she hadn't lied...exactly. She just left out the parts about them once loving each other as children, their foster father not being the selfless hero everyone thought he was, how she and Sarevok didn't need to hate each other anymore because of the whole memory debacle, and what else? Oh, also downplaying how big of a chunk of her soul that Sarevok had actually taken, half to be exact, completely not mentioning the side effects, like him seeing her dreams, knowing how to find her, sensing her emotions, even gleaning stray thoughts if she wasn't careful. The thin ice that she was already dancing on had to be cracking by now.

“I dunno, maybe I'm taking things out of context, or this situation with Haer’Dalis is coloring how I see things…” Imoen sighed. “I'm sorry. I just…I worry about you, you know? You're the only thing I have in this world, and it feels like everyone is conspiring to take you away, and then _BAM!_ Let's add Sarevok back to that list.”

Ilyrana felt her chest tighten with emotion even as her stomach roiled with guilt. She opened her mouth, not exactly sure what to say, but needing to say _something_ , maybe even let Imoen know that there were things she had been hiding, but couldn't speak them yet. Imoen cut her off.

“I don't think you remember much of that last battle between the two of you, or after it. You have no idea what it was like to see you broken like that. _No one, not even Irenicus, has come as close to killing you as Sarevok has._ He didn't just give you that nasty scar, but you were...I dunno, insane? Afterwards. You couldn't stop screaming and crying, and I had never even seen you cry before. Or since, for that matter.”

The darkness must have hidden Ilyrana's face, for surely Imoen would have seen the guilt, and the anguish, on her sister's face? The younger woman took a deep, steadying breath, and pressed on.

“I know you're way too smart to get tangled up with him, and I understand your reasons for bringing him back and letting him tag along. I didn't mean to accuse you like that. It wasn't fair. Forgive me?”

Ilyrana could hardly breathe through the burning in her lungs and throat. Mutely, she nodded, then cleared her throat and made a noise that sounded like an affirmative.

“Thanks, sis. I'ma get out and hit the hay, I'm pooped. Maybe tomorrow I might start working my seduction mojo and see if I can snare a tiefling. See you in the morning!”

Ilyrana mumbled a goodnight and began rinsing her hair, gently working out the snags with her fingers. Her movements were mechanical. She was on autopilot. She knew that one day she would look back on this night and wish she would have had the courage to speak up. To tell her sister, her best friend, what had happened. Not just with Sarevok, but the full extent of what Irenicus had done, too. Somehow, she knew that something had changed tonight. That this moment had been pivotal in some way. That she had failed, and would reap the consequences of her cowardice at some point in the future. Terror accompanied this realization, and she looked up at the silhouette of her sister, who had just finished getting dressed and was about to start heading towards camp. She had to tell her. Had to stop whatever she had set in motion.

“Imoen! Wait, I-”

“I know, Rana. I love you, too,” Imoen whispered, then turned and walked away, leaving Ilyrana alone, with only her dread, and guilt, for company.

 

* * *

 

_Sarevok_

 

“Have you considered what we talked about earlier this day?” Sir Keldorn Firecam asked into the darkness, his eyes scanning the moonlit path before him, watching for any signs of trouble.

Sarevok, standing several feet away and leaning against a granite wall, arms crossed across his chest, shot a glare in the direction of the paladin. He had no desire to hear about second chances and righting wrongs, topics the old man seemed rabidly fond of discussing with him.

“No. I am in no mood for your pious speeches tonight, old man. Leave me be.”

“You've been on edge all day today, my friend, more so than normal, anyway,” Keldorn replied, ignoring the warning in Sarevok's voice.

“Then perhaps you should _leave. Me. Be.”_

“You don't wish to tell me what's eating away at you? I may not be able to help, but sometimes just giving voice to-”

“Why do you think I want your help? That I _need_ your help?” Sarevok snarled, eyes already beginning to glow. “You've been trying for months now to...what? Help me achieve _redemption?_ Why? Does your god demand you try and save every lost soul you come across? Or does your own self-righteousness need to be  stroked that badly and that often?”

Gods, how he regretted asking Ilyrana to allow him to join her. At the time, it made perfect sense. He could watch the prophecy unfold, take whatever power he could get ahold of, and exact his vengeance on the girl for everything she had stolen from him. Now, none of that felt worth the suffering he was forced to endure at the hands of his half-sister and her vexing companions.

“Peace, Sarevok. I don't know what's gotten you in such a state...though I'm sure I could rightly guess.”

“If that were so, why bother inquiring at all?”

“A formality, really. I'm well aware what the source of these outbursts is. Though, I wish we could stop dancing around it and address it for once.”

“Enlighten me, then, paladin. What is the reason behind my rage?”

“It's _her._ It's _always_ _her._ ”

It took a moment to reign in his anger enough not to take the old man’s head.

“Careful, Keldorn. I tolerate you better than the other fools, but do not presume it will stay my hand for long.”

“Did you know that the Order of the Most Radiant Heart nearly went to war with the Harpers?”

The abrupt change of subject took Sarevok completely off guard. Where had that come from? And what did it have to do with Ilyrana?

“No...what are you getting at?”

“It's a story I think would interest you. If, that is, you're willing to indulge an old man for a time.”

Sarevok turned to face where Keldorn was sitting against a fallen tree, hesitated a moment, then stepped closer to him.

“I'm listening.”

“About fifteen years ago, those of us in the Order got word that a number of Bhaal-worshipping cults were being attacked by persons unknown. Initially, we didn't think much of these rumors, except perhaps, to raise a toast to the ones laying waste to those heretics.”

A chill went through Sarevok. How much did Keldorn know? How much had Ilyrana told him, if anything? And had she heard this story, as well?

“You can imagine our horror when we discovered that the Deathbringers and priests weren't the ones being targeted. Oh, they died, of course, defending their charges, not out of love, or decency, but their twisted devotion to their god. No, it was the bhaalspawn that were being slaughtered. Children. Infants…” The rage broke through the old paladin’s calm demeanor, and for a moment, he was unable to continue.

“I don't remember how we found out that members of the Harpers were responsible for the infanticide. It doesn't matter. Our two organizations are similar in some regards, but to us, to me, the ends don't always justify the means.”

“They were killing the children before Bhaal died, as was foretold he would, so that, if enough essence was lost by the time that happened, he could not be resurrected. Thus stopping Alaundo's prophecy from coming to pass,” Sarevok said, his voice carefully neutral.

“ _T_ _he Lord of Murder shall perish_

_But in his doom he shall spawn a score of mortal progeny_

_Chaos will be sown from their passing.”_

Hearing the prophecy still had an effect on him. Still made his pulse quicken, even as it reminded him of what he had lost. Of what could have been.

“By the time we learned of all this, it was too late. All of the known locations of the cults had been wiped out. Many of us wanted to find the hidden ones, to get the children out of there, but most did not. Killing children sickened us all, but there were those who agreed with what the Harpers were trying to accomplish, and while they would not raise their sword to aid them, neither would they raise it to stop them. A schism formed within our ranks, and it was this divide that kept us from rallying together and forcing the Harpers to face retribution.”

“Fascinating story, paladin, but why tell it to me?”

Keldorn grew quiet for a time, staring off into the night, eyes unfocused, lost in a memory. Sarevok waited, not out of respect, but because he wasn't entirely sure he wanted the paladin to get to the point of this conversation.

For some reason, the old man had taken an interest in him, to save him from himself, he supposed. As if that were even possible. Or something he desired. The impulse to just leave passed through his mind again. Something that had been happening on a near hourly basis since his talk with Ilyrana. As if he knew that, if he didn't get away from her soon, she would bind him to her even more thoroughly than she already had. Either intentionally or otherwise, though he doubted it would be on purpose, she never seemed to plan anything out at all. Which was infuriatingly unfathomable to him. How she had made it this long, making up absolutely everything as she went along, was a question that often kept him awake. He wanted to attribute it to dumb luck, and though he was positive that was a large part of it, there was just no way it could have carried her this far.

“You were in one of those cults, weren't you?” Keldorn finally asked quietly.

“Yes.”

He saw no point in denying it.

“And Ilyrana?”

“Why don't you ask her?”

“Ilyrana has a difficult enough time making it through the present. Asking her to look back would be cruel.”

“So you ask it of me instead.”

“Forgive me if my questions are painful, Sarevok, that is not my intention.”

“Then what _is_ your intention, old man?”

“You're right. I am old. I still have a few years of service left in me, Torm willing, before I can retire and hang up my sword. I've witnessed more than most men do in several lifetimes...and yet, I've never seen the hand of fate rest so heavily upon two people as it does on you and Ilyrana.”

“We're descended from a god, you fool, of course fate is involved, and you didn't answer my question. _What is the point of all of this?_ ”

“When Jaheira speaks of Gorion, she does so with obvious respect and feeling. As does Imoen. Ilyrana, however, avoids speaking of him when possible, and when he _is_ spoken of, she struggles to mask an enormous amount of resentment. Not grief, as I once suspected was the reason behind her refusal to talk about him, but bitterness, and rage.”

Sarevok stiffened with surprise. He had assumed Ilyrana's love for Gorion hadn't been tarnished by the return of their memories. The years spent being coddled by him weighed against being rescued from that temple, and only having to sacrifice _him_ , and the awful memories of that place. He had never considered that she would have begun to think of her foster father differently.

“The point of all of this, Sarevok, is I would like to know what happened. I have pieced together some of the story, but not all of it. Ilyrana doesn't handle her past very well, and I cannot blame her for that. She has suffered more than you or I will ever fully know.” At this, Sarevok clenched his right hand, remembering the dream.

_No, paladin. I do know how much she has suffered. Far better than you._

“I'm asking this of you because I feel as if the information will be needed in the future.”

“Did your god tell you this?” Sarevok sneered.

“Yes.”

Keldorn’s honest, unapologetic reply gave him pause. He considered refusing. It was none of the old man’s business, and if he planned on using the information Sarevok provided him to help Ilyrana, then obviously he should withhold it. On the other hand, learning that Gorion no longer held such an esteemed spot in Ilyrana's heart was worth what little Sarevok had already divulged. If he indulged Keldorn's curiosity, perhaps he could gain more leverage.

“Very well, paladin. On one condition.”

Keldorn's answering chuckle was unexpected.

“Naturally. I would be disappointed if you obliged me so easily.”

“This doesn't leave the two of us. You want to help the girl? Fine. I doubt what I have to tell you will do that, as she already knows this story, but I do not want anyone else to know of it. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Sarevok took a deep breath and considered where to start. Thinking about this, much less saying it aloud, was uncomfortable.

“Judging by the mention of Gorion, and asking if Ilyrana had also been raised in one of the cults, I assume you've already figured it out that she and I were in the same one together.”

“Yes, I had guessed so.”

As good a place as any to begin.

“Her mother brought her a few months after I arrived there. She was, perhaps, six at the time. Deathbringers had been sent out to find offspring that Bhaal had seeded among common folk and to escort the priestesses who he had chosen to bear his children to the temple.”

“Was your mother a priestess?”

“I don't remember what she was. Though, since she was butchered by the Deathbringers when they came for me, I can only assume she was not.”

Keldorn made some sound of sympathy, but Sarevok ignored it and continued on.

“Our only purpose was to die at the appropriate time, so we were ignored, for the most part, by the mothers and the rest of the clergy. There were about two dozen of us there at any given time. We regularly had to beg, and fight, for food, and we weren't allowed in the better kept parts of the temple, the only places that were made warm at night.”

“Gods, Sarevok, I had no-”

“Save your sympathy. This was a long time ago.”

“As you wish,” Keldorn replied with a sigh before asking, “Were you and Ilyrana close?”

Sarevok couldn't help but think of her as she had been as a child. So small, with long, wild hair, and big amber eyes. Her face was too exotic for one so young, it would take her years to grow into it. She was equal parts feral and affectionate, agile yet clumsy, clever but with a short attention span. Not unlike a kitten, as he would often tease her. Since that night he had gifted her with the blanket, she was rarely ever gone from his side. Only when her mother, lost in her madness, pulled her away from him would they be parted, and even then it was never for long, as Ilyrana would always steal away to come find him. She was his shadow. And she had been his entire world.

“Yes...we were. I kept her alive and she kept me sane.”

Keldorn turned to face him, trying to study his face despite the darkness.

“How long were you there before the Harpers came?”

“I don't remember, exactly. A year perhaps, maybe two.”

“And when they did come? What happened then?”

This was perhaps the most vivid of Sarevok's earliest memories. The morning of the raid…

 

* * *

 

_Alianna had taken Rana from him again. Not to deliver her to the High Priest, though, so Sarevok would just wait for her to escape. In the meantime, he had set out to begin procuring food. Preferably for the two of them to have for breakfast, as well as some extra to store in the cloth bag Rana had stolen from one of the altars, that was once used to store linens._

_They had begun squirreling away anything valuable, useful, and nonperishable in the hopes of one day escaping this place. One day soon, as Alianna’s madness seemed to grow more and more each day now, and the growing number of times she had forcibly taken Rana from him were beginning to become increasingly violent. So much so that, this past time, the woman had shredded her daughter’s arm with her nails while pulling the snarling girl out of his grasp. He had ceded the fight the moment he heard Rana's gasp of pain, and saw the blood running down to drip from her elbow._

_As Sarevok set out to look for food to steal, never wandering too far away, in case Alianna tried anything and Rana needed him, he went over the promise he made the night before._

_One day he would be strong enough to fight off the elven woman, or anyone who tried to take the girl from him. He had vowed it to her, as they lay in their tree, staring up at the stars, with the glow of the foxfire mushrooms lighting her features enough that her expressive face drew his gaze from the panorama of the night sky. She looked at him with eyes full of trust, and mischief, as she poked him in the ribs and reminded him that one day she would be quick enough to never get caught, so his strength would not be needed._

_“You will have it all the same.” He told her._

_“So serious all the time,” she chided. “I told you, I'm keeping you. You're stuck with me, so stop worrying so much. I'll always find my way back to you.”_

_“You won't ever have to be away from me if no one can get past me to get you,” he countered._

_Rana huffed and then bit him in the arm, causing Sarevok to jump and yelp, which caused Rana to curl up in a fit of giggles. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he crushed her against his chest while she wriggled to get free, laughing out apologies in the same breath as hissing out threats if he didn't release her._

_If he could just get into the kitchens, or one of the storage cellars, he could snatch enough food for them survive on while they made their way north, where he overheard one of the priests say was a town they regularly got some of their supplies from._

_A sharp, echoing scream rent the air, cut off as suddenly as it was voiced. Sarevok froze, listening. It hadn't come from the sleeping chambers where Alianna had taken Rana to, so he crept to the shadows by one of the columns that ringed an entrance to the temple, waiting to see what was going on._

_His answer came in the growing thunder of hoofbeats, the twang of bow strings, the_ thunk _of crossbow bolts slamming into flesh and bone. Before he could even try and comprehend what was about to happen, a section of the wall that circled the temple and it's grounds exploded inward, the_ boom _of the fireball that impacted it causing his ears to ring._

 _Dozens of mounted assailants cleared the debris and began spilling into the temple grounds, the hooves of their chargers sending up clods of grass and dirt into the air, and bringing with them the smell of magics and the_ clang _of steel._

_An answering roar sounded from within the temple and around its perimeter as Deathbringers met the attackers, cutting down horse and rider alike with their awesome strength. The priests and priestesses followed behind, blessing their champions with powerful defensive enchantments, and meeting the enemy mages’ magics with their own._

_In seconds, the surrounding area was unrecognizable. Lightning, summoned by druids, sizzled away the morning mist as it scored the priests and the ground around them. Magic missiles collapsed columns and carved out chunks of the temple walls as warriors ducked to avoid them on both sides. Horses’ screams became indistinguishable from humans’ as death spells rendered them to ash and stone. The hiss of arrows raining down amid the chaos added to the cacophony of battle._

_Sarevok crouched by the column, too afraid to move. Too mesmerized by the carnage to want to. The cries of the babes and the shrieks of the other children, however, pulled him back._

_For a brief moment, when he saw the invaders charging to meet the Deathbringers, he had felt a swell of hope that they were here to rescue them. To kill the mothers and the robed priests and take him and Rana away somewhere safe, and warm, and with plenty of food. This fantasy dissipated as quickly as it formed when Sarevok realized that the temple's residents were actually only standing in the way of the real targets for slaughter. When he saw one of his fellow children running out of the temple and away from the melee. When one of the mounted rangers put an arrow clean through her, the girl's body turning into a cloud of golden dust as she died before even hitting the earth._

_He had to get to Rana! Staying in the shadows, he began circling the exterior, moving away from the battle, making his way to one of the side doors that would lead him to her. A cry of pain turned his head to see the boy he had once almost killed for a loaf of bread to give to Rana, recognizable because of the scars he had put on his face. The boy was dragging himself along the ground, gripping handfuls of grass to pull his weight forward, his legs useless as they were missing from below his knees._

_A spear was driven into the boy’s back by a woman in studded leather, then yanked from the ground to shake the dirt and golden dust from it's lethal head. She looked up and locked eyes with Sarevok. Before she could advance on him, a cylindrical shaft of acid slammed into her from the side, knocking her screaming to the ground as it began eating through her armor and skin with equal effectiveness._

_Sarevok darted towards the fallen woman, closed his hand around a dagger that had fallen from her belt, and began sprinting towards the side entrance he sought._

_“SAREVOK!”_

_“RANA!? I’M COMING! HOLD ON!”_

_Rana's scream of panic scared him more than what lay behind him. Running as fast as he possibly could, he headed towards where her shouts seemed to come from, outside the temple, near the back._

_As he ran, he saw more gaping holes in the defensive wall, more bodies of fighters on both sides. Whoever the attackers were, they were smart, striking from several different locations, forcing the small number of defenders to spread themselves too thin. He could hear fighting inside the temple, the sound of wooden doors being smashed down, of desperate cries for mercy falling on deaf ears as those too young or too scared to flee were cut down. Butchered just as viciously as the rest._

_Up ahead, halfway between the temple and a breach in the wall, he saw her. Scrambling to her feet, she tried to lunge away from her mother's fierce grip, but the woman dragged her down, pinning her to the ground with a knee and an arm as she wrestled to free a knife from her robes. He wanted to scream at Alianna to stop, but he knew her. Knew she would only move faster once she saw him coming for Rana._

_A fear so sharp it stole his breath churned inside him as he watched the woman finally free her blade, and begin to position it across Rana’s throat, the girl's thrashing growing more desperate as she realized what was about to happen, and that she was helpless to stop it._

_“NO ONE ELSE CAN GIVE YOU TO HIM! I BIRTHED YOU! ME! I GET TO BE THE ONE TO GIVE YOU TO HIM!”_

_“Mother, please! Stop! Don't! Please! MOMMY!”_

_Sarevok didn't pause to think or gather his strength. There was no summoning of courage or hesitation. As he came up behind Alianna, he brought up the dagger he had taken. Gripping it tightly in one hand, his other shooting out to grab a fistful of tangled black hair and twisting for leverage, he struck as quickly and forcefully as he could. The steel sunk into the side of Alianna’s neck._

_Shoving the gurgling madwoman aside, he reached down, grabbed Rana's hand and pulled her up. His hand was slick with blood, and she almost fell back down as her fingers nearly slipped out of his._

_“We'll go to our tree, our supply stash is there. If we get separated-”_

_Sarevok was cut off as a roar of pain and denial rang through the air behind them. Spinning around, and pulling Rana behind him to shield her, he saw an older man in gray robes dismount from his horse, eyes wide with horror and locked onto Alianna as she lay curled and dying in the grass._

_“GO!” Sarevok yelled as he laced his fingers through Rana's and turned, running for the gap in the wall._

_He heard chanting, and then felt magic prickle along his skin, the only warning he was given before two magic missiles slammed into his back and a third one into his knee. The force of the blows drove him into the dirt, knocking the air out of his lungs and pulling Rana down with him._

_The pain of his wounds drowned out thought and warped his perception of what was happening around him. He was dimly aware of a man's wracking sobs and Alianna's name murmured mournfully over and over again. Of the elven woman gasping out Rana's name and choking on whatever she was trying to tell the man._

_“GET UP! PLEASE! SAREVOK!”_

_Rana's voice, shrill with fear and desperation, began to rouse him, as it always did. He felt her pulling on his arm, throwing her weight back to try and pull him across the ground._

_“I CAN'T MOVE YOU, YOU HAVE TO GET UP! PLEASE!”_

_Shaking his head to orient himself, he tried to obey. His knee screamed in protest, the agony of planting it beneath him to push up nearly making him black out._

_“COME ON! HELP ME! SAREVOK, PLEASE!”_

_He felt and heard a_ popping _sound as his arm dislocated from Rana's next sudden jerk on it to get him up._

_“Ilyrana? Child, leave him. He just murdered your mother,” the man's voice broke and he continued with a sob. “I loved her, long ago. I won't leave her daughter in this place. I won't let you be harmed. I swear it. Come to me.”_

_“Rana... don't listen to him...killed the others…” Sarevok rasped, pain slurring his words. “Leave me...run...can't catch you...our tree…”_

_“I’M NOT LEAVING YOU!” She screamed, the pupils in her eyes blown from terror and rage, blood tracking from a cut in her lip. She looked wild. More animal than child, as she moved to stand between Sarevok and the man, hands half curled, ready to claw, teeth bared, the amber of her eyes beginning to shine with an eerie light._

_“No! Rana, listen to me!” Sarevok bit out between clenched teeth. “RUN!”_

_He watched, helplessly, as the man lunged forward and caught Rana up against his chest, one arm wrapped tightly around her, pinning her arms to her sides. Watched as Rana screamed and snarled, fighting with all of her strength to get away, get back to him. It wasn't enough. Just as his strength hadn't been enough._

_Life meant nothing to him without her beside him. A future meant nothing to him without her in it. The old man would have to kill him if he wanted to stop him from coming for her._

_Forcing his battered body to move, he began to slowly, agonizingly, push himself up. Gasping against the pain, he staggered to his feet. His knee buckled and he fell back down, screaming as his dislocated shoulder smacked into the earth. Through a blur of tears he saw the man in gray swing up into the saddle of his horse, still struggling to hold an enraged Rana._

_Baring his teeth, he again pushed himself up, tears falling down his face from the pain. It was nothing compared to losing her, though, he knew that, and that knowledge got him vertical, stumbling as he kept most of his weight on one leg._

_“I loved her, boy,” the old man hissed. “This is why your unnatural breed of hellspawn needs to be eradicated. Purged from this realm, just as your unholy father will be. As he will remain.”_

_Sarevok ignored the speech, uncaring of what the bastard thought. Shambling forward, he slowly began making his way towards them, Rana's strange, beautiful, glowing eyes were a beacon calling him home._

_“I loved her,” the man said again, this time raising his free hand as his fingers began tracing symbols of purple light in the air. “Death would be a kindness to you wouldn't it? A cessation of your suffering that you DO NOT deserve. In some twisted way you care for Ilyrana, I can see that. And she misguidedly cares for you.”_

_The symbols glowed brighter, outshining Rana's eyes now._

_Sarevok took another step closer._

_She was his._

_So many whispered oaths bound them together._

_She was his._

_Pain meant nothing._

_The man meant nothing._

_Rana was everything_.

_SHE WAS HIS._

_“I won't end your pain, boy, and you won't leave her be, so this is the only way to resolve this.”_

_The purple of the sigils burned white now, and Sarevok's eyes began to glow as well, locked onto Rana, willing his body to keep moving forward._

_“You will forget her. Her name. Her face. Her voice. Every memory associated with her will be wiped away.”_

_An insane laugh escaped Sarevok's throat._

_“Never,” he hissed._

_“But, your yearning for her will not diminish. You will want something that you will not ever remember. Searching for something as intangible as smoke, until the need drives you mad. You will forget her. You will never see her again, even if you lay your eyes on her once more, you will not know her.”_

_“NEVER!”_

_“SAREVOK, I'LL FIND YOU!” Rana screamed, trying to sink her teeth into any part of the old man that she could reach, desperate to get to him, tears streaming down her face._

_“You will forget her...” the old man repeated a final time, the blazing runes winking out, leaving black spots dancing in his vision._

_“...and she will forget you.”_


	7. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time to turn up the heat.

_“Creating chaos just to prove we're alive_  
_Demolition of a delicate kind_  
_Midnight confessions keep on blurring the line_  
_Say you're here on my side_  
_Want you here on my side_  
_You keep my heart under the cover of night_  
_Could be the devil in a clever disguise_  
_Temptation leads us, it's too late for goodbye_  
_Say you're here on my side_  
_Want you here on my side_ _  
_ Come undone with me”

_-State of Seduction by Digital Daggers_

 

_Ilyrana_

Ilyrana finished rubbing lotion into her skin and began throwing on whatever clothes she could find in her bag that were clean and warm. A long-sleeved linen shirt, that may have once belonged to Valygar or Keldorn before they had unknowingly lent them to her, and an old pair of frayed pajama pants, probably the last of her wardrobe that wasn't sweat, blood, and dirt infused. In the morning, if they didn't have to depart immediately due to the mercenary army getting too close, she needed to do laundry, else spend the foreseeable future smelling like a kobold. Or “borrow” some from her sister. Who probably also didn't have much left that was clean.

Throwing her things into her bag, she turned and looked toward the camp, on the far side of the hot springs. She needed sleep. Having had very little the night before, and with another grueling day of ranging ahead of her, it would be foolish not to try and get some rest, not to mention dangerous. The chance that she would dream again, though, kept her from joining the others in slumber. Especially now that she knew Sarevok could share her dreams, and as horrible as the one he had already seen was, there were other kinds of dreams she _did not_ want him privy to. Which meant, maybe it would be better to sleep while he was on watch? To reduce the risk of just that scenario… and add even more strain to her already incredibly difficult task of falling, and staying, asleep on a semi-nightly basis.

After pulling on a pair of boots and slipping a knife into each one, more out of habit than because she felt she would need them, Ilyrana decided to take a walk around their little hideaway. Maybe she'd go see who was watching the trail, not having checked with Keldorn earlier, who normally handled doling out those duties for her. For now, though, she was content to wander between the pools, watching the steam rising from each one, and letting the wind dry her finger-combed hair.

Unable to put off thinking about it anymore, she sighed and began replaying her conversation with Imoen. The guilt, and uneasiness, came back immediately. Pushing that aside, she focused on the possible reasons Imoen might have had for all but throwing her into verbal quicksand.

Her half-sister didn't know about her and Sarevok's trip down memory lane last night, so that obviously hadn't sparked it. Most of her and her half-brother’s talks, however they started and regardless of the topic, usually ended in snarled warnings and hands clenched around weapons. Neither of them had drawn steel on the other, yet, but the possibility for violence was there in each interaction. Ilyrana didn't think it would come to that, though. He wasn't stupid, and he kept his temper on a much tighter leash now that he didn't have the taint goading him. No, if he did force a confrontation, it would be when her companions weren't close by to help, and when she was physically too weak to release the Slayer without risking death in the process.

Ilyrana tried to remember the specifics of her and Sarevok's previous conversations. One had been about her complete and total lack of desire to become a goddess, should she be the last bhaalspawn standing when this was all over. She had understood why her dearth of ambition would infuriate him, had even sympathized up to a point, considering she shrugged at the idea of Ascension when he had died trying to achieve it. He had made no effort, though, in trying to see why godhood held no appeal for her, why the enormity of that kind of responsibility was daunting, not enticing. Not to mention the obvious fact that divinity didn't always equal all-powerful, Bhaal wasn't the only god to die during the Time of Troubles, after all, and many of the gods were locked in eternal conflicts with one another, which did not sound like an enjoyable way to spend eternity.

Even when they agreed on something, like strategy, martial technique, or even just what direction to travel in, he had to throw in a scathing comment or cruel remark that seemed to negate the fact they could agree on anything in the first place.

She tried to avoid antagonizing him, he did enough of that for the both of them, but there were times that his barbed words hooked deep in her skin and she couldn't stop her temper from snapping, which was what he wanted.

Pride and anger had been big contributors to his downfall. There was a lesson to be learned there. Whether he _had_ learned it remained to be seen, but Ilyrana struggled to take the lesson to heart just as well, as she too allowed her rage to direct her actions far too often, and moreso as time went on. As the taint grew steadily stronger with each passing of another bhaalspawn.

So, Ilyrana couldn't figure out _why_ Imoen was so convinced there was something there between them. She had been honest when she told her sister that she had traded a piece of her soul for what he knew of the prophecy.

In the deepest recesses of her heart, though, that hadn't been the only reason. Ilyrana could never admit to Imoen that a small part of her, the half-starved, feral little girl, who would have followed a lonely, bronze-skinned boy anywhere and to any end, had yearned to bring Sarevok back. Had wanted to know if anything of the boy she once loved so fiercely had survived inside the man he had become. Even if finding out, regardless of the answer, would hurt.

Gods, what did it matter _how_ Imoen had begun drawing these conclusions? She wasn't wrong. That's what was eating away at Ilyrana. That her sister wasn't just being perceptive, but, by confronting her about the personal nature of the hostility between her and Sarevok, it was forcing Ilyrana to reevaluate everything. Every single memory of her and Sarevok as children. Every single time she had wanted to stop fighting with him now, even as she wanted to keep that wall up between them. Valygar, damn his soul, had been right. It was so much easier holding onto the hate, because, if she let it go, what then? Hate was the comforting hearthfire burning inside her, capable of keeping her warm through whatever storm raged against her, and igniting into an inferno when she needed it.

Ilyrana had to acknowledge that this had all been bound to happen eventually. If Sarevok hadn't seen her dream the night before, he still would have ended up finding out about her swift departure from Baldur's Gate while wounded. Just as she would have eventually asked him when he got the memories back. It always circled back to those memories. They were the driving force behind the animosity in every look, every harsh word spoken between them, and what kept pulling them back to each other.

He had thought that Gorion’s spell had worn off at the exact same time for both of them. Which made sense. So he obviously thought the memories hadn't mattered to her. Just as she had thought his returned long before then. He was older, stronger, why wouldn't his have come back sooner? Why would he have cared about them, or her, at all compared to becoming a god?

They both knew the truth now, though. That what happened hadn't been their fault. The taint, Gorion, the prophecy, all of it had manipulated them into fighting one another, into one of them killing the other. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't pretend that these past revelations hadn't shaken her, that they meant nothing. She could lie to everyone else, with varying degrees of success, but not to herself. Which begged the question… _What now?_

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Ilyrana began circling back towards the dead tree in front of the pool she had bathed in, still not sure if she should try to sleep, pester whoever was on lookout, or keep blazing a trail of insomnia around the pools.

When she was just about to pass the tree, Ilyrana saw a shadow move out of the corner of her eye. Reacting by instinct, she slid the knife out of her right boot and struck out. A strong, calloused hand snatched her wrist and squeezed with enough force that her fingers opened on their own and the blade fell to the ground. As her other hand blurred toward her second dagger, she was pushed into the tree, with both hands now secured behind her back in one of Sarevok's.

“ _What the fuck, Sarevok?_ ” Ilyrana snarled, as she realized who had her trapped against the tree, eyes glinting yellow in the moonlight as her panic gave way to fury.

“I could ask you the same, girl, for very nearly gutting me!” He snapped back, face only inches from hers, his body close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his dark skin.

“Well, if you hadn't snuck up on me, I wouldn't have reacted that way!”

“I was trying to figure out why your things were lying here yet you were nowhere to be found!”

“I was out walking, not that it's any of your damn business!”

“It _is_ my business when I'm on watch and you disappear. Who do you think they'll blame if something happened to you?”

Ilyrana didn't have an immediate response to that one. Instead, she focused on the tingling numbness spreading through her forearms as his hold on her began cutting off the circulation.

“You can let go of me now,” she growled while vainly trying to wrest her wrists out of his grip, suddenly aware of how vulnerable she was with her arms pinned at the small of her back, his body towering over her own, reminding her twice now in as many nights of just how much larger he was than her. His damned scent making it hard to concentrate, some mix of soap, leather, and just _so male_ that it made her turn her head to the side as she tried to shake the effect it had on her.

He didn't let her go, though.

* * *

 

 S _arevok_

 

He had her at his mercy, her companions were all asleep or drowsily keeping watch, and she hadn't even attempted to bring the Slayer forth. All it would take is his free hand wrapped around her throat, or his own knife slid across it. A few seconds and his vengeance could be complete with no one the wiser until dawn, when he would be miles away by then.

She turned her head, eyes closed, and took a deep breath through her mouth, arms flexing beneath his hand in a futile attempt to get him to release her. Her hair fell across her face, that distractingly familiar smell of jasmine and orchids saturating the night air.

It took him a moment to realize that his arm, the one pressed against her waist to hold her hands behind her, had tightened against her, forcing her to arch up to him, so that her breasts brushed his chest. He brought his other arm up, hand resting against the bark just next to her hip, effectively caging her in.

This was madness. He had her right where he wanted her, but damn her if he couldn't stop his eyes from trailing over the slender curve of her bared neck, wondering how her skin would feel beneath his lips. Or wondering how that silken hair of hers would feel wrapped around his fist.

“Sarevok?" Ilyrana whispered, her voice sounding uncertain, wary… husky.

Hearing his name spoken like that made him clutch her closer, so that his mouth was now hovering just above her neck.

Ilyrana swallowed, her breaths coming faster, her lithe little body trembling against him.

“Why should I let you go?” He asked, his own breathing becoming ragged.

“Because i doubt you want the Slayer playing with your insides,” she hissed, the threat falling flat when she still had her eyes closed, and her words rang with false bravado.

“If you think you're in danger from me, why isn't it doing so right now?” He replied, then raised his free hand to brush her hair behind a pointed ear, his fingers sliding beneath her chin to make her look up at him.

He needed to know why she hadn't changed, yet. As if knowing would also answer why he had no desire to kill her... and why he felt like he was drowning beneath the thoughts of her body beneath his, her cries in his ears, her nails in his back, his teeth at her throat, and his hands gripping her hips as he-

“ _Am_ I in danger, Sarevok?” She asked, suddenly opening her eyes, amber flickering like candlelight.

His hand slid from her chin to the nape of her neck, tangling in her mane of hair, preventing her from looking away. He pressed her into the tree, the line of his body hard against hers, both of them panting, both of them fighting the magnetic pull between them.

“Yes, Rana, you are,” he rasped, and his control snapped. Tightening his hold on her, with his own hold on sanity loosening, his mouth just inches from hers, Sarevok almost didn't hear the muffled shouts coming from the camp.

They froze, staring into each other's eyes, breathing unevenly. For a moment, neither moved. He became intensely aware of the feel of her against him, her slender frame and soft curves, _that damned scent_ , sable hair brushing against the arm at her waist. Her eyes slid closed, shutting out the soft, smoldering glow, as she visibly struggled to regain some kind of composure. He wasn't confident that he could do the same.

He had no idea what she had done to him, to make him want her like this. She had _killed_ him. It didn't fucking matter if she hadn't remembered their childhood when she struck him down. Didn't matter that she had mourned him, and that doing so had resulted in her being too weak to prevent her brutal rape and torture. Didn't matter that she had split her soul with him, only months after fighting her way through Hell to retrieve it from her tormentor.

Gods help him, it _couldn't_ matter.

He released her. Taking a step back, then another, he felt a brief moment of bitter relief that her pull on him lessened with each foot of space he put between them. She kept her back against the tree, eyes fixed on him, expression unreadable as her breathing returned to normal.

“Ilyrana!”

Anomen. Crimson rage flooded his vision as the cleric called for her. Damned if he knew why.

“Coming.” Ilyrana called back, still watching him, her voice pitched just high enough to carry.

 _Leave. Now._ He commanded himself. Not just walk away, but go entirely. Away from here. Away from her. Put as much distance between them as he could. If he didn't, he wouldn't be able to stop next time. _Next time?_ He was already planning on getting her alone again? On finishing what he had been a breath away from starting?

_LEAVE. NOW._

_“Ilyrana!_ Mercenaries coming up the path!”

Too late.

Ilyrana shoved off from the tree, retrieved her knife, and her bag beside the pool, before she disappeared into the shadows, heading towards the camp.

He followed. There was nothing else he could do, and those mercenaries lay between him and freedom from her. He relished the thought of a fight, needing to lose himself in the chaos of battle. When it was over, when his blood lust was sated, he would go. He would let her live, as recompense for the half of her soul she had given him. She was going to die eventually anyway. Her nine lives had to be almost spent.

Sarevok told himself that he was leaving before she could realize the power she wielded over him. A power he was only just now learning of. It was different from the sway she held over him when they were children. He had wanted to hold her, protect her, cherish her. Their bond had been powerful, but innocent.

There was _nothing_ innocent about what he wanted to do to her now.


	8. The Price of Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long, work has been conspiring against all creative pursuits lately, it seems. I'm hoping it eases up a bit soon.
> 
> To make up for how short the last chapter was, this one is very long. ^_^

_I owe Imoen a huge apology._

Ilyrana jogged towards the camp where her companions were rolling up bedrolls and stuffing them inside their own Bags of Holding.

“My lady, they're far enough up the path that I fear we can't slip out of here undetected,” Anomen said.

“How in the name of Hell did they get this close without you seeing them first?”

“I had just taken over _that abomination's_ watch,” Anomen bit out, turning his attention to Sarevok who was coming up behind her. “I was talking to Sir Keldorn, I-”

“Was too busy exchanging pompous platitudes with the paladin and failed to notice the army approaching,” Sarevok finished for him, eyes faintly glowing as he stared the cleric down.

“I hadn't realized you disappeared so quickly,” Anomen sneered, his hand dropping to the handle of his mace. “You seemed to be in such a hurry to get somewhere.”

Anomen’s blue eyes shifted to Ilyrana, and she could practically see him adding Sarevok’s swift departure from watch up with the fact that the two of them had appeared out of the shadows together just now. His gaze snapped back to Sarevok, hand tightening on his weapon, and opened his mouth to speak. She didn't give him the chance.

“How many of them are there and how long until they find this place?”

“It looks like a scouting party,” Keldorn answered for Anomen as he approached them, Carsomyr drawn and gleaming in the light of the dying campfire. “I counted thirteen torches. Unless they turn around and go back, they'll be here in minutes.”

“We can handle thirteen unaware mercenaries easily enough,” Ilyrana replied while drawing out her sword belt, bow, and a quiver of arrows.

“My Raven!”

Ilyrana bounded toward the wall Haer’Dalis was keeping watch on, the one that Valygar had previously been at. The tiefling extended a hand down, she took it, and he helped pull her up before turning and pointing wordlessly into the darkness. Ilyrana blinked as her infravision briefly blinded her with scarlet. In the distance, lights began growing brighter, white and red blending together so that, for a second, she thought the dawn had decided to come a few hours early. More mercenaries, also carrying torches, the white hot light making it impossible to estimate a number.

“They're too far away, and the torches are screwing with my infravision.”

“I know,” Haer’Dalis agreed before turning to sweep his gaze around the labyrinthine boulder-strewn terrain.

“Fuck,” Ilyrana hissed as more lights began to appear in the distance, scattered from all different directions.

“Either that army somehow grew wings and managed to spread themselves out to converge on us like this, or that's more than one force.”

Ilyrana's mind began racing with possibilities. She couldn't get an idea of their number, but in seconds the horizon was pulsing with crimson. They were coming from all sides, from the West which they had come, the East where the mountains lay, and from the plains to the North and South. A red tide rolling in on the enclosed hot springs. They couldn't all belong to Balthazar, could they? She highly doubted any of them were aligned with Abazigal, a dragon, and Sendai, a drow. How did they know where she was?!

“Ilyrana?” Keldorn called, the urgency in his voice forcing her to put aside her questions for now.

Hopping back down, she reached into her bag and began drawing out her armor.

“There's hundreds. We're surrounded. Even if we kill those scouts, we would have to navigate the rocks in the dark with several armies out there.”

“There's only the one way into the hot springs, we can at least manipulate how many of them can come at us at once, if we make a stand here,” Keldorn replied grimly.

Valygar laid a hand on her shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze as he moved past, heading toward the path, already armored and with his bow strung. A small ember of fear began to burn in her stomach. They had faced far worse odds than this before and won, but rarely had they made it out unscathed. This late in the game, so close to ending this damned war, Ilyrana couldn't help but feel like this was going to exact a much higher price than she was willing to pay.

“Alright, make sure everyone knows what we're up against, and have them head to the entrance when they're ready.”

“This is suicide,” Sarevok snapped as he began buckling on his plate mail.

“I'm open to suggestions,” Ilyrana snapped back, perhaps a bit more forcefully than was necessary.

She couldn't let herself be distracted right now; not with an army bearing down on them. Even though her heart was still racing, not because of the impending battle, but because of what _almost_ happened with Sarevok. The memory if his body pressing hers into the tree, his breath against her neck, completely vulnerable to anything he wanted to do to her.

_And I would have let him._

The ember of fear ignited into a small flame, fueled by that realization. She had ached for more, feeling as if she would go mad if he kept her bound any longer; unable to touch him, to glide her hands over the expanse of his chest, feel the muscles in his shoulders beneath her palms, and trace his scars with her fingertips.

For once, just once, she wanted to let go. Surrender her strength, her power, to another who could handle it. Someone who could match the ferocity in her blood without being afraid of her.

Yoshimo had feared her. Each of the handful of times they had been intimate, he couldn't hide the wariness. Looking back, she wanted to believe it was hesitation because of the gaes, and perhaps that was part of it, but Ilyrana knew that every time they shared a bed, the knowledge of who, of _what,_ he was touching was foremost in his mind.

Her only other lover, Kivan, hadn't been much better, despite neither of them knowing at the time that she was a bhaalspawn. Though it wouldn't have mattered. The first time had happened because of a brush with death that led to the need for life-affirming sex. The second time he confessed to feeling unfaithful to his dead wife, and that he didn't know if he could be with her because of that. The third time, the last time, he had told her that he wasn't comfortable with how rough their lovemaking kept becoming. A complaint that Yoshimo had voiced as well, though he had at least tried to make a jest of it, but she had seen through it just the same.

Anomen wanted her. _Had_ wanted her since she met him at the Copper Coronet in Athkatla, years ago. Since he decided she was a damsel in distress and needed saving. Unlike Yoshi, Anomen seemed to completely blind himself to the fact that Bhaal was her father, which was just as bad as caring too much about it. Forgetting, or disregarding, whose blood ran in her veins was dangerous, especially when he had seen the side effects of the taint and either shrugged them off or chalked them up to yet another reason why he should rescue her from her fate. She hated the burden that Alaundo's prophecy placed on her shoulders, but it was _hers_ to bear. She would see it through, one way or another, for Imoen's sake, if not her own.

If Ilyrana fell before this was all over, it would fall to her half-sister to end the war, and either stop Bhaal’s return or usher him back into this world. She honestly didn't give a damn what the outcome would be, neither did Imoen, just so long as it _ended._ She knew her sister cared about the innocents caught in the middle of this conflict, and the damage it was doing to Faerun as a whole. Ilyrana, however, didn't. All she cared about was getting Imoen out of this alive, and preferably herself as well.

As she finished donning her leather armor, Ilyrana began hurriedly stringing her short bow as Jaheira hastily motioned that the scouts were almost upon them. Silently moving into position among the backline with Edwin, Imoen, Valygar, and Viconia, she knocked an arrow and shivered as various defensive magics fell over her. Some of them overlaid the ones enchanted into her rings and armor and others had no effect at all, like the Infravision spell that would allow the others with no elven blood to see in the dark.

“How intriguing, cousin,” Viconia murmured to her in Drow.

“What's that?”

“Judging by how you have the stench of male on you, and the fact that the Deathbringer can't keep his eyes off you more than usual, I would say these mercenaries interrupted something I would be _very_ interested in hearing about in vivid detail.”

“Nothing to tell,” Ilyrana replied through clenched teeth, and shooting a glare at the dark elf.

“Indeed? Well, if we survive this, you better take advantage of him, he may be a human, but his _size_ , abbil-”

“We are _not_ talking about this right now!” Ilyrana hissed.

“Do you think he's proportionate?”

It said a lot that Ilyrana was almost relieved as the sound of shouts and steel meeting steel erupted from the scouting party as they stumbled almost blindly into their frontline.

“Hold!” She said as Imoen raised her hands to begin a spell. “They can handle them, save your spells, we're going to need them.”

“Ugh, I hate waiting,” Imoen growled, clenching her fists.

Her sister's response gave Ilyrana pause enough to tear her attention away from the melee to study her. Imoen's eyes were hard, glinting red from the Infravision spell, which gave her a sinister look.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

Ilyrana raised an eyebrow, but let it go; she couldn't afford anymore distractions.

“Gods, can they be any louder? If those armies don't already know where we're at, they certainly do now… why can't they just cleave through them quietly? Do I yell when I clobber something with my staff? No, I do not…”

Ilyrana gave Edwin a killing look, which only reduced the Thayvian to mumbling.

“Ilyrana, they're not Balthazar’s!” Keldorn suddenly shouted above the dying din of combat.

“Then who the Hell do they belong to?”

Her answer came in the sound of massive beating wings. It was an unmistakable sound that she would never forget for however long she lived. It was the same sound she had heard while fighting Irenicus's monsters in Suldanessellar. The sound Nizidramanii'yt had made when he had flown above them. The sound of an approaching dragon.

A few things clicked into place in the back of Ilyrana's mind as she began screaming out commands.

Of how Mellisan, a “benevolent friend of the bhaalspawn”, knew where Sendai and Abazigal’s respective strongholds were located.

How she had left that knowledge with Balthazar, a monk who lived in one of the most strongly spell-shielded monasteries she had ever seen. A monk who kept a mercenary army encamped within his city, with little regard for the effect they had on the locals.

How said army had begun moving in their direction, effectively herding them to this place.

And how Abazigal obviously possessed a similar army, which was now closing in for the kill.

They weren't going to survive this.

A screeching roar rent the air as the dragon dropped from the skies, landing atop one of the granite walls, the claws of his wings digging in to steady itself. In the light of the moon and the pre-dawn, Ilyrana struggled to understand why the brown beast was quite a bit smaller than the ones she had encountered in the past, about twice the size of a wyvern. If he had been the first she had encountered, she would have said he was gargantuan, but as it were, she had met a few, and all of them were almost twice this one's size. Wouldn't a bhaalspawn dragon be bigger?

“Abazigal, I presume?” Ilyrana called, arrow knocked and pointed at the beast.

“Nay, elf, my father has more important matters than dealing with a tiny upstart such as you.”

Father?

 _Upstart_?

“Careful, wyrm, I've killed several of your kind,  all of whom were much older and larger than you,” Ilyrana shouted back, aiming at its left wing joint and waiting.

“You are in no position to make threats, elf. You are surrounded. You have been betrayed.”

No shit.

“Why the banter then, lizard? And why did Abazigal send his runt here in his place?”

The dragon hissed and lashed his tail in fury. If dragon's had one weakness, it was their ego. Every single one she had met, Irenicus's black, Firkraag, Thaxll'ssillyia the shadow dragon, even Adalon the silver who had been an ally in the Underdark, could not stand any kind of disrespect, or just anything other than utter adulation.

“Or does daddy not know you're here?”

Ilyrana glanced around to make sure the others were in position and that the mages were ready to cast Protection from Fire spells. When the beast opened his maw to speak again, she let her arrow fly, not giving him the chance to stall any longer for the army to get here.

As always, it hit its mark, sinking into the delicate tendons of the dragon's wing joint to the fletching. The monster screamed in pain and reared back in surprise, tail undulating for balance. The granite crumbled beneath one of its clawed feet, and the beast pitched forward, wings outspread to slow its fall, and landed heavily on the ground.

“Move in, spread out, and watch the tail!” Ilyrana yelled as she let another arrow loose, aiming for the other wing joint. She could try for it's eyes, but those were hard shots to make; better to ground him and keep him distracted.

What felt like ice water flowed through her as the spells that would protect them from it's breath were cast. As she walked away from the path, firing off arrows as swiftly and methodically as was rote to her by now, her eyes swept over her companions.

Keldorn swung Carsomyr at the dragon's ankle, forcing it to take a step back. Like a serpent, it's neck shot down to bite at the paladin, but an axe bit into the tender skin behind it's skull, Korgan still hanging onto the handle of his weapon.

“Oho! Yer a wee beastie compared ter the others I've carved up. Think I'll turn you into boots, or perhaps a-”

The dragon reared back, shaking loose of the dwarf and let loose a torrent of flame, trying to buy itself some breathing room. The others fell back, ducking behind boulders or shields to reduce how much their enchantments absorbed in order to prolong their effects.

“For Arvoreen!” Mazzy cried as she ducked underneath the dragon and slashed the beast’s flank, her shortsword biting surprisingly deep, before jumping back and twisting, just barely avoiding it's tail.

“Cavalry!” Valygar cried, drawing Ilyrana's attention back to the path.

Mounted mercenaries, ten abreast in several rows, wearing heavy plate, their chargers also armored, were galloping down the path towards them.

“Edwin! Buy us some time!”

The mage turned, scarlet robes swirling around him, raised his hands, palms glowing and crackling with arcane energy, and began snapping out words of power. A grayish ball shot out from his hands and sped towards the mouth of the path. Just before the mercenaries breached the hot springs, the ball exploded, sending gray-green webbing flying in all directions. Horses screamed as they stumbled and fell, the sticky substance adhering them to the ground and each other, with many of their riders trapped beneath them.

Imoen followed up Edwin's web spell with one of her own. Yellowish fog billowed out above the ensnared riders and began drifting out and down. A Cloudkill spell. The mercenaries’ first charge would be mostly dead in the next few minutes, as the vapor began making their throats swell shut. They needed time to deal with the dragon, or there would be no chance whatsoever of them living to see the dawn if they had to fight both simultaneously.

Seeing that reinforcements were delayed, and with its back literally up against the wall, the dragon lunged forward, dropping to it's smaller foreclaws, wings hanging uselessly at its sides, and spun.

“Get down!” Ilyrana cried, panic rising as she realized what the desperate creature was doing.

It's tail whistled through the air as the dragon used the momentum of it's body to swing it out in a devastating arch. All of her companions within range dropped to the ground to avoid being slammed into stone.

Before the beast even finished it's maneuver, it began chanting. Ilyrana took aim for the wound Mazzy had opened up on it's flank and fired.

The wound closed before her arrow hit, so that the projectile only dented a few russet scales and fell uselessly to the ground. It had been casting a healing spell.

“Shit.”

The dragon reared back onto its powerful hind legs and spread it's now fully healed wings. Ilyrana aimed again for the joints, but was knocked to the ground before she could let her arrow fly. Rolling onto her back, she released her hold on the bow and drew out her short swords, crossing them in front of her, eyes darting to find what had attacked her.

Nothing.

As she climbed to her feet, another blow came from behind, hard enough that she fell gasping onto her knees.

“Invisible stalkers!” Someone cried out, followed by Keldorn’s strong voice calling out to Torm to reveal their new enemies.

Suddenly, as if a veil were lifted, a human-shaped shadow, lined with a soft, glowing white light, wavered into existence in front of her, a leg speeding towards her face. She rolled to the side, adjusted her grips on her swords, and sprang to her feet, blades flashing out to sever the being’s head.

As the shadow collapsed to the ground, Ilyrana looked up to see dozens of the things flitting towards her companions. Sheathing her swords, she grabbed up her bow and began trying to thin their number.

The dragon, scales now radiating with defensive magics, began pumping its wings, buffeting them with lashes of wind that sent up sand, stones, and other debris, practically blinding them.

“Arrogant little gnat! You think that just because I am young, that I am weak?” The beast roared, still buffeting them with his wings, forcing them to retreat before the gale force winds and the stalkers who were herding them towards the path where the sound of hooves could be heard clattering toward them yet again.

“You _are_ weak!” Imoen shouted, her voice rising above the chaos and growing louder and shriller. “You want to see what power looks like?! Here! Take a close look!”

Ilyrana turned towards her sister's enraged voice, hardly recognizing it, hand over her eyes to shield them from the dirt flying around.

“Imoen! Fall back, what are you-”

Before she could finish, her sister's voice rose once again, this time in a chant.

“NO, YOU BLOODY FOOL!” Edwin roared, obviously recognizing the spell Imoen was casting. “STOP, GIRL! OR YOU'LL KILL US ALL!”

With her eyes squinted, Ilyrana peered through her fingers and that small flame of fear burning inside of her ignited into a conflagration at what she glimpsed.

Imoen, standing tall and defiant against the herd of stalkers and the dragon behind them, hands raised to gather power, wind and pebbles swirling in a vortex around her, and her eyes glowing as brightly as the sun that was just beginning to crest above the horizon.

_No… gods, NO!_

The irritability and paranoia. The eagerness to engage in battle. All of her recent behavior was because of the taint manifesting itself inside her.

She should have known. The signs were all there, so obvious to her now, as they should have been then. _Would_ have been if she hadn't been so fucking focused on her and Sarevok's conversation, their memories, and the tangled web of conflicting emotions she had been battling because of all of it.

“IMOEN, STOP! IT'S THE TAINT TRYING TO USE YOU! YOU HAVE TO FIGHT IT!” Ilyrana screamed, even as she realized that she hadn't taught Imoen how to control, and resist, their sire’s power.

She should have, when Imoen had begun having the dreams, and waking up with the knowledge of how to cast spells that she shouldn't be able to.

Someone grabbed her and drug her back. She struggled against them, needing to do something before this reckoning claimed the only person left that she loved.

“My lady, get back!” Anomen yelled into her ear as he half-carried her away from Imoen, trying to shield her from whatever her sister was about to unleash.

It was a noble effort, but futile. What can a knight do against the might of the very earth itself?

The ground shook. That was their only warning. The only hint they were given as to what spell Imoen had put into motion.

For just a few seconds, everything was completely still. The dragon froze, its wings raised back in mid stroke. The invisible stalkers paused, poised between them and the wyrm. The swirling debris fell to the ground as the winds died away.

Then...chaos.

The earth beneath the dragon opened up and _swallowed_ it, the creature shrieking as it tumbled down the chasm Imoen created under it's feet. Before anyone could even process what they had just seen, the earth shook again, and the granite walls around the hot springs began to crack. The steaming pools began to boil, one of them shooting up in a geyser of scalding water.

When Ilyrana channeled the taint, she became stronger, faster, more resilient against wounds caused by steel or sorcery, and with heightened senses and reflexes. Sarevok had once harnessed that power to much the same effect. Imoen, however, was able to use it to _fuel_ her magic.

The earthquake was violent but, mercifully, brief. Imoen collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, arms wrapped tightly around herself, and the glow of her eyes fading. Ilyrana twisted out of Anomen's hold, sprinting towards her sister as the invisible stalkers moved in on the vulnerable mage. Whipping out her swords, she didn't slow her speed as she leapt into the herd, slashing out with deadly accuracy.

“For the Doomguard I strike a blow!” Haer'Dalis cried out as he joined the fray; Chaos and Entropy, his short swords, becoming twin blurs as he spun through the stalkers, leaving the shadowy creatures littering the ground.

Sheathing her swords, Ilyrana turned and knelt beside Imoen.

“Are you alright?”

“Rana, I don't know what came over me, I've never been so angry before.”

“It was the taint, but it's okay now. Come on, let's get you up.”

“Gods, no wonder you're usually in a bad mood, that sucked. And now I ache all over, like my bones are bruised or something.”

“Must be from the magic. Can you walk?”

“My raven, let me tend to her,” Haer’Dalis said as he came up beside them. “You're needed against that horde.”

Ilyrana reluctantly relinquished her sister to the tiefling and stepped back, knowing he was right.

“Go on, sis, I'll be alright, I just need to rest a minute.”

Exchanging a concerned look with Haer’Dalis, Ilyrana once again took up her bow and turned towards her companions and the oncoming mercenaries. Before she could take two steps, there was a rumble as something giant detached itself from one of the cracked walls. As she realized what it was she was looking at, it was already too late.

“Earth elemental! _MAZZY!_ ” She screamed, firing an arrow at the fifteen foot monster in a desperate attempt to divert its attention. It must have been awakened by the earthquake, and was now seeking to punish those who had disturbed it.

The halfling turned, throwing her shield up, but it was useless. A cart-sized fist struck the shield, sending Mazzy flying back into one of the pools.

“ _NO!”_ Ilyrana and Valygar yelled, both of them sprinting toward the fallen warrior.

Valygar reached her first. Ilyrana felt frost begin to form inside her heart as she watched him kneel beside the halfling, reaching out to examine her crumpled body, then lunge to his feet, bellowing for a resurrection from a healer. It wouldn't be forthcoming.

With an enraged earth elemental barreling down on them from one side, and a mercenary army about to crash into their frontline, Viconia, Anomen, nor Jaheira would be able to perform the spell. And the longer Mazzy was dead, the less likely it was that she could be brought back. Ilyrana could see that realization in her friend's face as he looked down at their fallen companion and she ached for him. Mazzy was her friend, too, but she and Valygar had become very close over these past couple of years.

A grief-stricken battlecry had her turning to see Korgan sinking his axe into the elemental’s knee, the blow making the behemoth creature stumble, one colossal arm swinging down to crush the dwarf. A giant, disembodied, ghostly hand formed above and behind Korgan, curled, and smashed into the thing, sending rocks and dirt flying as it fell heavily to the ground and did not get back up.

“Ha HA!” Edwin roared triumphantly, exultant with his spellcasting.

Ilyrana almost grinned at the Thayvian, but her expression turned to one of horror as an arrow appeared through his throat. She didn't have time to yell for aid, or rush to the mage’s side, as another arrow blossomed out of his chest, and he fell, gurgling on his own blood.

Watching a second friend fall, she felt the taint stir inside of her, feeding on her anger, burning through her veins, offering up its power.

_Not yet._

Viconia’s voice rose as she cast a Confusion spell on the charging frontline of the mounted sell swords. Ilyrana watched with savage glee as the soldiers began trying to hack away at each other, mid gallop, while others jerked on the reigns of their steeds, forcing the beasts to attempt to slide to a stop, so that the horses behind them slammed into them. Those that reached her warriors were swiftly cut down.

In seconds, the path was completely clogged with the corpses of the previously slain mercenaries and their mounts, as well as the aftermath of the chaos inflicted by the drow’s spell.

Climbing atop a chunk of fallen granite, she began taking out the archers that had scaled one of the walls. Valygar joined her, adding his own, his eyes red with unshed tears.

An explosion off to their right had the backline turning in time to see that a rogue mage had blown a hole through one of the walls weakened by the earthquake. More soldiers began pouring into the springs.

“We can't keep this up, there's too many!” Valygar yelled into her ear as he drew out his katana, his quiver of arrows now spent.

“There's no way out of here!” She cried back.

“Rana!” Imoen yelled from somewhere behind her.

Ilyrana spun and felt a glimmer a hope at what she saw. The back wall opposite of them had cracked and there was a sizeable enough gap for them to escape through. Imoen and Haer'Dalis were standing near the hole, tossing out spells at any mercenaries foolish enough to come near them.

“Keldorn! Fall back! We need to get out of here!”

The paladin, his shining armor now covered in gore, began bellowing to the others to retreat. Ilyrana, still firing arrows at any of the enemy archers and mages that she could see, started moving toward their escape as well. Another explosion rocked the area, this time from their left. Like ants, soldiers began spreading out from the newest entrance.

They were in full retreat now. Her spellcasters had almost nothing left to cast, and her fighters would be exhausted and injured. Jaheira stopped halfway, turned, and raised her hands to begin a spell. Giant brown bears appeared before her, two pairs, gave bellowing roars, and began loping toward the sell swords.

“We can't leave Mazzy!” Valygar shouted and made to go back.

“Valygar, stop!” She screamed, grabbing the ranger’s arm and pulling him around to face her. “If we don't get out of here now, we'll be surrounded and overwhelmed. I'm sorry, but we have to go!”

Ilyrana's voice cracked at the end. She didn't want to leave Mazzy and Edwin's bodies here. She wanted to try and have them resurrected, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The rage, and grief, on Valygar’s face made her reach for him, wanting to alleviate some of her friend's pain in some small way, and perhaps some of her own as well. He jerked away from her, his eyes full of loathing.

“Valygar?”

“Save it, Ilyrana,” he spat, and turned to climb through the crack in the wall.

Her stomach knotted, and her eyes stung, as she watched the man disappear beyond the wall. He was her most steadfast of friends, the most understanding, and that look of hatred and disgust killed something inside of her. She knew he was grieving, would apologize for snapping at her later, if there was a later, but right now, it all just added to the stew of fury boiling inside her.

“Sis, it's clear on this side, right now anyway,” Imoen called from beyond the wall.

“Alright, everyone through!” She snapped, sending more arrows into the army, aiding the four giant bears who were mauling anyone foolish enough to come within their range.

Anomen, Jaheira, and Keldorn went through. Korgan, Sarevok, and Viconia were the last ones still fighting.

“Come on!” Ilyrana shouted, covering their retreat.

Viconia, bashing one last head in with her shield, turned and made her way towards the escape. Ilyrana sent an arrow over the drow's shoulder and into the narrow slit in the helm of a heavily armored sell sword coming up behind her. As the man collapsed, Ilyrana saw a mage and a cleric standing shoulder to shoulder behind him, hands weaving their magics in the air.

“Vico-”

Lightning slammed into Viconia's back, knocking her to the ground before ricocheting into one of the bears, then snaking out to disperse among a cluster of soldiers. The spell left all those hit by it twitching violently on the ground.

Ilyrana dropped the mage before the lightning faded completely, eyes glowing almost white with fury. Reaching behind her shoulder for another arrow, and grasping at air for several seconds, she realized her quiver was empty, at the exact moment the cleric finished his spell.

“ILYRANA! HURRY!” Keldorn roared from the other side.

Snarling, she threw her bow across her shoulder, turned, and began running towards the hole in the wall. With each step, her fury grew. With each frantic beating of her heart, the guilt festered. She would have vengeance. If it took another piece of her humanity to do it, then so be it, but her fallen would be avenged. A dozen yards from escape, the cleric's spell manifested.

A faint red shimmer appeared between herself and the wall, as tall as the rock and just as wide. She thought it was a trick of the light, the dawn's rays reflecting off of the pinkish granite, so she didn't slow her sprint. An arm snaked around her waist and yanked her back, lifting her off the ground and pulling her against an armored body. Her flash of outrage turned to confusion then to fear as she realized that Sarevok had just saved her life from something she had never needed saving from before.

The red filmy barrier only feet in front of her was no trick of the light. It was a Protection from Evil spell that that cleric had cast. She could hear, and feel, an angry buzzing sound emanating from it, and it repulsed her, made her skin crawl and burn just to be near it. The reason _why_ it had such an effect on her, when this particular spell hadn't done so before, made her sag back against her half-brother, clutching the arm around her stomach in disbelief.

“DWARF, STOP!” Sarevok yelled, but it was too late.

Korgan couldn't stop his forward momentum in time to prevent running through the red veil. When he hit it, his body _disintegrated._ Ilyrana, eyes wide with horror, could only watch as another companion, another friend, died.

“Rana! What are you doing? COME ON!” Imoen yelled through the crack in the wall.

Sarevok took a few more steps back from the barrier, pulling her back and to the side of him, both of them repelled by the energy of the spell.

“What's wrong? Why aren't they coming through?” Imoen asked, her voice sounding small, confused, scared.

“Protection from Evil,” Keldorn replied numbly, staring at the pair of them, his eyes full of emotion and unblinking.

“Huh? Okay, so Sarevok is screwed, but that doesn't mean Rana can't come through,” Imoen said, looking from the paladin, to her sister, to Jaheira, and back. “Rana isn't evil.”

“The gods say she is,” Jaheira replied quietly.

“Sir Keldorn,” Ilyrana called, surprised at how steady and calm she sounded, when she wasn't feeling that way at all. “Get everyone out of here. It's up to Imoen now to kill Sendai and Abazigal. Aid her, as you've aided me. Protect her, guide her...that's my final order.”

“Rana?! No, wait, this isn't right! _YOU'RE NOT EVIL!”_ Imoen screamed, leaping forward, arm outstretched to climb back through the hole, but Haer'Dalis and Jaheira grabbed her.

“ _Keldorn?!_ You're not seriously considering leaving her, are you?!” Anomen demanded, rounding on his superior.

“I will do everything in my power to keep Imoen alive and help her finish this war. I vow it, Ilyrana,” Keldorn called to her, his hand gripped tightly around the handle of his holy sword, a tear trekking down his anguished face.

“ _WHAT?! WE CAN'T JUST LEAVE THEM!”_ Valygar cried.

A pain-filled roar echoed behind them, and she and Sarevok turned to see another bear fall, leaving two alive now. Snarling, the Deathbringer moved to intercept a mercenary who had slipped past the beasts and was running toward them, spear raised.

“Go! We'll hold them off as long as we can!” Ilyrana managed to yell, her throat tight with unshed tears as she unbuckled her empty quiver of arrows, letting the now unnecessary weight fall to the ground.

“ _NO! I'M NOT LEAVING YOU! RANA!”_ Imoen shrieked, frantically trying to throw off Haer’Dalis, but he and the druid held her firmly between them.

Anomen and Valygar were yelling into Keldorn's face, both intent on going back through the wall to stand with them.

“They can't cross that barrier, and we won't make much of a difference against that many sell swords!” Keldorn roared, stunning the two men into silence with his fury. “This is killing me just as it is you, but there's _nothing_ we can do! Ilyrana and Sarevok are two of the most skilled fighters I've ever seen, they may be able to survive until that spell fades! Until then, we _have_ to get Imoen out of here and keep her safe!”

Ilyrana stopped listening as another bear fell heavily to the ground. Keldorn was right. They could survive. It was highly unlikely, but there was one option still open to her, one she would wait until the last possible moment to use, and hope it was enough.

As she unslung her bow and let it, too, fall to the ground, she tried to block out her sister's wailing cries, now dwindling as her remaining companions began to make their escape. Tried to ignore the blinding pain in her heart as Imoen's screamed denials blended with the memories of her own screams as Gorion drug her away from Sarevok. The pain quickly changed to wrath as she drew her swords and moved to stand beside her brother.

The taint whispered through her blood, fueling the adrenaline, offering up its power for her use. She accepted it. Allowed it to suffuse every part of her mind, body, and soul, fortifying every muscle and bone, honing every primal instinct. Accepted the price it would demand from her for it's gifts.

“I would say that I hope you have some kind of plan, but I know better by now,” Sarevok said dryly. “You have no plan other than to die and hope in doing so that your sister makes it out alive.”

“Pretty much,” she replied.

Sarevok turned to say something else, but the last of Jaheira’s bears finally fell, and he went quiet. Now there was nothing standing between them and the army. Now, the real fight was about to begin. Most likely their _last_ fight. It was fitting, in a way, that they would be standing together for it.

Stepping forward and moving away from Sarevok to give them some room to maneuver, Ilyrana felt his half of their soul brush against hers. She didn't pull away this time. What was the point? Instead, she reached back with her half, and felt that weird sense of vertigo again. Then, a sort of _awareness_ of him. He was no longer in her line of sight, but she knew exactly how far away from her he stood. Knew just how heavy his greatsword was while clasped in only one hand. Knew that he was going to pull back from the morningstar being swung at him, then take the head of the man who wielded it. Knew that he felt the same awareness of her.

And they _both_ knew that this surprising use of their shared soul just evened up the odds a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend to kill so many people all at once, it just sort of happened that way. Thank you for reading and sticking with me as I try to get this story out.


	9. The Slayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took way longer than it should have. I've been on vacation, and I told my husband I didn't want to leave the house, just stay at home being a couch potato, and that's what I've done. It's been awesome, but I didn't get nearly as much written as I wanted.
> 
> As the title suggests, the Slayer is going to make its glorious entrance and I wanted to take a sec to talk about its physical appearance. Due to the beloved, yet dated, look of the game, we don't get a very detailed look at what the Slayer really looks like; those pixels leave a lot to be desired. Now, one particular demonic villain from another game left a huge impression on me and slowly, over time, my mental image of the Slayer has become that of said demonic villain. I'm talking about Blizzard's Diablo from Diablo 3. Below, I've posted an image of it if you haven't played the game (which I recommend you do, it's oodles of fun). Neither the image nor the concept belongs to me, and if you've already got a solid vision of the Slayer down in your own head, then by all means please use that one.

 

 

 _I'm not ready to let go_  
_Cause then I'd never know_  
_What I could be missing_  
_But I'm missing way too much_  
_So when do I give up, what I've been wishing for?_  
  
_I shot for the sky_  
_I'm stuck on the ground_  
_So why do I try, I know I'm gonna fall down_  
_I thought I could fly, so why did I drown?_  
_I'll never know why it's coming down, down, down._  
_Oh I am going down, down, down_  
_Can't find another way around_ _  
And I don't want to hear the sound, of losing what I never found_ \- Down by Jason Walker

 

_Ilyrana_

Ilyrana stumbled back, nearly falling, the wound in her hip where a mercenary’s blade had sunk to the bone sent shockwaves of pain down her right leg. Her back hit Sarevok’s, his hand reached around to steady her, and they both paused, breathing heavily, leaning against one another for just a moment, needing the respite, however brief.

The sun glared mercilessly down upon them from it's peak in the sky. Countless bodies were strewn across the hot springs and carrion birds whirled high above as they waited for the battle's conclusion. The entrance was choked with corpses, human and horse, and had become impassable, forcing the armies to split and come at Ilyrana and Sarevok from the holes blown into either side of the springs. Fighting back-to-back, they had held their own for far longer than either expected; aided by their new-found soul ability.

Exhaustion and dehydration, though, as well as the wounds they were accumulating, were beginning to take their toll. Putting weight on her right leg was agonizing for Ilyrana, and her speed, which was her greatest asset, was hurting because of it. Sarevok had taken a nasty hit to his ribs, the plate of his armor dented in so that just breathing was painful.

Ducking to avoid the slash of an axe, Ilyrana pivoted on her left leg, bringing her sword up to cut across the soldier's unprotected face. Behind her, Sarevok cleaved down two more men with one swing of his sword. Glancing around, she saw that the streams of mercenaries flowing into the hot springs had dwindled. She couldn't help the flutter of hope in her chest that they just might survive this, if only that Protection from Evil spell would drop, they could make a break for it.

Movement on the far side of the springs caught her eye. A man, mounted, surrounded by what she presumed to be his guards. He motioned with a gauntleted hand and Ilyrana felt the protective enchantments in her armor...falter, somehow. As if dispelled.

_That cleric._

As her gaze darted around the battlefield, searching for the priest that had thrown up the Protection from Evil spell, and had just rendered her nigh defenseless, the thunder of approaching horses smothered the remaining embers of hope she had been trying to kindle. Turning, she could just make out the new arrivals in the distance, charging toward the hole in the right wall. Another wave of cavalry.

Before Ilyrana could even open her mouth to tell Sarevok about the mounted man, the hidden cleric, or the nearing horsemen, the crossbow bolts hit her. Like hammer blows, the quarrels drove deep into her chest, stomach, and right leg, which immediately buckled as her femur shattered. On her knees, eyes wide with disbelief as she looked down at the end of the shafts jutting from her leather armor, the shock of being hit momentarily drowned out the pain.

She rarely ever took an injury in battle. She was too fast; her armor, some collected from powerful beings she had slain and others forged by some of the best armorers this side of Toril, was infused with layer upon layer of defensive magics designed to deflect the most accurate of arrows and the sharpest of enchanted steel.

Breathing suddenly became laborious, a sign that one of the bolts had hit a lung. Fighting the overwhelming urge to gasp, cough, or hyperventilate, knowing that blood was quickly filling up at least one of her organs, she raised her head, her vision swimming, and looked at her half brother.

The impacts of the missiles had been loud enough for him to hear, and he knew, without having to turn around, that Ilyrana had been fatally wounded. He could practically _feel_ the life ebbing from her through their shared soul. Running a mercenary through, his vision red with fury, Sarevok twisted the blade sideways in the man's gut, gripped his head with his other hand, and used it as leverage to tear the weapon out through the side, severing the soldier nearly in half.

Ilyrana watched him turn and approach her. Her hands still gripped her swords, though they laid uselessly on either side of her. Focusing on breathing and conserving her draining strength, she began to withdraw her half of their soul from his. She didn't want him to feel what she was about to do. What she was about to unleash.

Kneeling in front of her, Sarevok examined the bolts, then began ripping off his gauntlets.

“No,” Ilyrana panted. “They're too deep.”

“There's enough healing draught left to close the wounds if I can draw them out,” he said, not looking at her as he drew the red bottle from his own Bag of Holding.

“Sarevok.”

“This is going to hurt. I need you to try and hold still. If you faint-”

She raised a hand to his face and brushed her fingers against the stubble on his cheek. He stopped moving, stopped breathing, his eyes still averted from hers.

“Potion isn't strong enough to stop internal bleeding,” she said softly, struggling to get the words out when it felt like she was drowning.

Her time was nearly up. In another minute, perhaps two, her lungs would finish filling with blood and it would be over after that. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about what she would be leaving behind. There wasn't much, in truth. A small mountain of gold and trinkets she had squirreled away in various hidden caches throughout the realm. A cabin in Windspear, the only place other than Candlekeep that she had called home, however briefly. Her sister, who was smart enough, and strong enough, to live to see this war ended. Her friends, who would eventually go off and pick their lives back up. And, perhaps, one last thing.

“In a moment there will be a short window of time where you can slip out past the mercenaries,” she gasped, desperate to get the words out. “Go. Do something worthwhile with my soul. I don't want to see you in the Abyss.”

He finally looked at her, brows drawn with some emotion she didn't have the energy to decipher. It was too late to try and put into words the conflicting way she felt about him and their history. Too late to ask him the questions she had needed answers to. Too late for either of them to work past their hate, resentment, and bitterness in order to find out what could have been. She lamented it; the not knowing. Recalling the way her body had responded to his, how his dominating strength had made her want to yield to him when no one had made her feel that way before, there was little doubt what one of those possible outcomes were. And, in their final hour, she had glimpsed the power they could have wielded together if they could just trust each other enough to fight side by side like that in the future. There was still so much to explore; and now it was too late.

She could see the same thoughts mirrored in his eyes. Slowly, he raised his hand and grasped hers.

“Go,” she whispered.

“What are you planning to do?”

Before she could answer, his head snapped up at the sound of a small cadre of soldiers rushing toward them, hoping to finish the pair off while they were down.

“Sarevok, wait, let them come.”

It was no use. Ignoring her, he rose, bringing his sword up with him, and went to meet them.

“No, damn you! Get out of here!”

Coughing, she slumped forward, one arm braced against the ground to hold herself up. White spots danced behind her closed eyelids, only to turn black when she opened them. Spitting out blood, she heaved for air and raised her head to watch Sarevok fight off the other men.

The last grains of sand in the top half of the hourglass were trickling down to the bottom. No cavalry was coming to save _them_. It was time.

Reaching deep inside herself, inside the very core of her torn soul, she began to unlock the metaphysical chains that held the gates shut on the part of her that she had fought so long to keep at bay. It was almost a relief to finally surrender. There was no effort required, all she had to do was just stop fighting. As the gates swung wide on rusty hinges, she called to the fury inside the blackness behind those barriers. Felt it stir at her summons. Watched it begin to rise out of the depths, building speed, tearing and tainting everything it touched; her memories, and personality, everything that made up who she was, as it clawed its way toward the surface.

A snarl and the sound of something heavy hitting the earth forced her attention back to the world around her. On one knee, with the bodies of the recently slain spread out before him, Ilyrana watched Sarevok slowly begin to try and remove the half dozen crossbow bolts that had shattered through his plate armor. The cleric, a middle aged man of nondescript features, stood a few yards away, hands still raised from the spell he had just cast. The same one that had torn her own magical defenses down.

“No...you fool,” she hissed, amber eyes locked onto Sarevok as they began shifting to red-gold in color, her teeth nicking her lips as they began to sharpen. “I'm tired of watching you die!”

“Finish off the bhaalspawn, we won't get paid unless we have her swords as proof,” the mounted officer’s voice carried to her. “And put the Deathbringer down, he's just as rabid as she is.”

The blood dripping from her mouth and oozing steadily from her wounds began to smoke, obscuring her view of the mercenary captain she was mentally marking for a swift yet painful execution. Through the darkening haze she glimpsed Sarevok grasping his sword where it lay beside him, readying himself to rise, a few of the crossbow quarrels still inside him. In the distance, the mounted soldiers thundered closer.

As screams of rage and triumph echoed across the Abyss and up through her very soul, so loud she felt it vibrating in her bones, she sent out a desperate command at her other half.

Feeling her skin begin to burn, as if the blood coursing beneath it had caught fire, Ilyrana closed her eyes and succumbed to the madness shredding it's way out of her.

* * *

 

_Sarevok_

_STAY DOWN._

Ilyrana's voice echoed across their soul, fading before cutting off abruptly. When he reached back to brush his half against hers in order to get some clue as to what mad idea she was about to put into motion, his blood ran cold at what he felt.

Nothing.

She was gone. Just...gone.

In her place… a tidal wave of fury and bloodlust crashed against him, with an alien mind behind it, but there was no trace of Ilyrana’s soul. As if the thing had swallowed her, absorbed her, and _erased_ her.

He saw the faces of the men charging toward him turn to horror and disbelief as they stumbled to a stop. Saw the cleric frantically scramble back, mouth gaping.

He didn't turn and look. He knew what it was. Not what it looked like, he hadn't seen it before, but from what he briefly felt of it. He knew Ilyrana had used the last of her will, the last few seconds of her life, to summon up the Slayer.

To allow him the chance to escape.

_“Go. Do something worthwhile with my soul. I don't want to see you in the Abyss.”_

The knowledge of exactly what she had done would have brought him to his knees if he weren't already there.

He had been confused when she mentioned the Abyss. Surely she didn't honestly believe that she had done enough evil to outweigh all those acts of self-righteous heroism? He knew what evil looked like, it stared back at him every time he looked into a mirror. He shared her very soul; she was tainted, and there were shadows and scars certainly, but there was nothing within her that warranted an eternity in the Abyss.

Except that he had been wrong. There _was_ something dark lurking inside her that had enough unholy strength to drag her down. That _something_ was a small part of why Ilyrana couldn't even face herself in a mirror without shattering it to avoid glimpsing the darkness waiting behind her eyes. He knew most of that was because she hated what she looked like, or rather, what had been done to her because of it. He also knew that she feared, and despised, what was inside just as deeply as she hated the outside.

She could have just allowed herself to die. Had she done so, had she kept that thing locked away as she faded to dust, the plane of existence she would have gone to would have certainly been far less horrible than the Abyss. Instead… she willingly let it take her place. Willingly strode into that hellish plane to give him a chance to survive.

No. Not to survive.

To _live._

“ _Do something worthwhile with my soul.”_

The memory of the last time he saw her before Gorion stole her from him rose up inside his mind. Of Ilyrana moving in front of him, facing off against the old man, knowing she was powerless, but prepared to fight to protect him just the same. Even though Sarevok had been the one who vowed to protect _her._ Even though she had been the one Gorion wanted.

The shouts of the approaching riders had him gripping the hilt of his sword hard enough that his knuckles popped. The unfamiliar ache in his chest, brought on by the emptiness left in the wake of no longer being able to feel the other half of her, now his, soul, as well as the memory, fueled his wrath. He wanted to rip them all apart; exorcise the pain by murdering every single one of them.

Reaching up, he wrenched another bolt out of his chest, ignoring the wave of dizziness that he assumed was due to blood loss. As soon as he removed the last of them, he would take the rest of the healing draught.

The foot soldiers standing between him and the horses fell away, not wanting to fight what was manifesting behind him. Gritting his teeth, he tried to obey Ilyrana's last command and stay down, trusting that she had known what she was doing.

He ripped another quarrel out. There was only one left now.

With weapons raised, the cavalry were almost upon him, galloping with enough speed to run down anything in front of them. Just as he could discern the eye color of the nearest sell sword, something whistled over his head and slammed into the line of mercenaries. The wrenching sound of steel plate and chainmail crumbling was deafening. It blended with the screams of the horses and their riders as all of them were sent flying back.

A long, serpentine tail, deep red in color and covered with long black spines, finished it's deadly arc, disappearing back into the smoke, leaving the horsemen scattered and broken like wooden toys.

Sarevok turned his head and looked behind him. It took a moment for the Slayer to emerge from the smoke, rising to it's full height of fifteen feet, that lethal tail twitching like a cat's. It took another moment for his mind to comprehend what he was looking at.

Several pairs of horns swept up and back from it's head. Protrusions of blackened bone jutted from it's back, almost like wings. More spines jutted from it's shoulders. Plates of chitinous bone protected it's vital areas. It had two sets of arms, one smaller pair, and one larger pair, with bladed spikes protruding from its elbows and forearms.

It was terrifying.

It was beautiful.

The Slayer stepped forward, strangely graceful and fluid in it's movements, tail swishing slowly back and forth. Burning reddish yellow eyes, devoid of emotion, locked onto the remaining mercenaries.

A panicked male voice rose off to the side. The Slayer turned it's horned head, looked at the cleric, and exploded into motion. It was fast. Impossibly fast. Before the priest could complete what he was casting, one large, clawed hand raked down his body, leaving gouges deep enough to expose the bones left splintered beneath.

As if a spell had been broken, shrieks of terror suddenly erupted from the remaining mercenaries as the cleric’s mutilated body hit the earth; some of them turned and fled, while the braver, or more foolish, ones rallied around the captain. The Slayer hissed, it's eyes tracking the fleeing men, before turning to look at Sarevok.

Yanking the last of the accursed crossbow bolts out, he pulled a bottle from his bag, uncorked it, and drained what little remained of the contents. There was just enough elixir left to close the wounds. His armor had stopped the projectiles from doing as much damage to him as they had done to Ilyrana, but there had been more in number.

The Slayer watched him, then took a step forward, readying itself to spring. Sarevok staggered to his feet, nearly losing his grip on his sword as his muscles sluggishly tried to obey his commands. His vision blurred, and just the act of standing seemed like a near impossible feat to maintain.

Cold dread joined the numbness creeping through his limbs as the realization sank in that the crossbow bolts had been poisoned. The healing brew had closed the wounds, had stopped the bleeding, but it could do nothing about the toxin. At that exact same moment, a shudder ran through the Slayer’s body. Hissing, it jerked back, shaking its head violently enough that it nearly lost its balance. Sarevok could only watch in confusion as he tried to focus on remaining conscious and upright.

Turning away from the Deathbringer, the demon set its sights on the group of soldiers and their captain. Sarevok didn’t know why it hadn’t attacked him, why it had suddenly changed its mind, but he doubted it would spare him once it had run out of lives to take. He had a few more minutes now, enough time to escape, but he didn't think he had the strength to make it very far before the poison finished him off.

A group of crossbowmen emerged from behind one of the larger rocks, firing their weapons at the creature. The quarrels bounced ineffectually off it's bony armor. With a high pitched roar of fury and ecstasy, the Slayer lept into the middle of them, slashing out with its claws and the blades on its forearms. Arterial blood seemed to stain the air, and the ground was soon saturated with the spilled innards belonging to the unfortunate fools whom the beast had pulled apart.

Sinking back down to one knee, the weight of his greatsword now too much to bear, Sarevok watched the butchery with a mix of awe, jealousy, and fear. He had read about the Slayer, back when he had been compiling information about the prophecy. He knew it was the divine avatar of Bhaal himself. Knew, just by looking at it, that what little he had discovered about it had been vastly understated. It was the perfect vessel of destruction. Of murder.

When he had first heard the whispers from Ilyrana’s companions about the Slayer, he had been nigh insane with envy. How could she have attained the ability to take its form? _Why_ had it been _her? Why was it always her?_ And, of course, she shied away from speaking of it to him, and refused to acknowledge how fortunate she was to have that kind of power. He couldn't understand how someone could be so blind, _so utterly foolish,_ to not embrace a gift like that.

Seeing it now, in all it's blood-stained glory, he wasn't as firm in his convictions about it. Or about her.

_Damn you, Ilyrana._

As children, she had been the only light in the darkness of those years at the temple. As a man striving to become a god, she had been the thorn in his side that eventually became his undoing. As his ally, she had become his obsession; tirelessly watching, calculating, scheming to bring her down.

And in death, as in life, she would have haunted him till his last breath, were he not soon to draw it.

More shouts, and the sound of steel, made him look up, swaying a little as just that small movement brought on another wave of dizziness. The Slayer was now ripping into the soldier's around the captain. It picked up one man and tore him in half. It's tail smashed three more into the granite wall, leaving smears of blood on the rock as the bodies slid to the ground in a broken, pulpy mess.

The captain slammed his horse into the demon, the blade of his spear driving deep into its shoulder. Howling with rage, the Slayer backhanded his mount, sending man and beast tumbling to the ground in a crunching heap of broken bone. It fell upon them, it's fangs sinking into one or both of them, Sarevok couldn't tell which, as the screams sounded much the same. Those still alive tried to hack at the Slayer from the sides, dancing around it's whipping tail, but they just didn't have the strength to break through it's hide.

The sound of footsteps coming up behind him had him fumbling for the dagger at his belt. He couldn't feel his hands, but damn if he was going to sit there and let a nothing sellsword claim the honor of killing him.

“If you strike at me, male, I'll let that poison finish it's job then feed your corpse to the Slayer, I swear to Shar!”

“I thought you were dead, drow,” Sarevok snarled back, letting the dagger slip from his fingers, and not turning to look at the woman so she wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing his relief at her sudden appearance.

“Merely stunned. Though, I am insulted you would think that that _jaluk’s_ mediocre spell could kill me. Perhaps I _should_ let you die.”

“If you were going to let me die, you wouldn’t be here trading words with me,” he paused to catch his breath before continuing. “Now, heal me or begone.”

Viconia shook her head at the man, choosing to ignore his arrogance this time, as she needed him. Resting one dark hand on his armored shoulder, she murmured the words to the necessary spell that would neutralize the poison. Seconds later, as her goddess cleansed the toxin out of his body, she bit out a healing spell to repair the rest of the damage.

Rising to his feet, he watched the Slayer eviscerate what little remained of the mercenary army.

“Have you tried to reach her?” Viconia asked, her voice softened somewhat.

“She's gone, drow.”

“ _H_ _ave you tried?”_

_“Yes! I've tried! Her soul is gone!”_

Hissing, Viconia grabbed his arm and jerked him around to face her.

“Her soul isn't _gone,_  Sarevok, it's being _used._ She doesn't disappear when the Slayer takes over, she's just suppressed.”

Sarevok looked down at the drow, then shrugged his arm out of her grip and turned back around to study the demon.

“I know the two of you can feel each other through her soul,” Viconia said, coming up beside him. “Don't reach out to her soul, reach out to _her.”_

_Could it really be that simple? Was she still in there, somewhere? Did he want to bring her back if she was?_

“She was dying when she transformed-”

“Then she’s probably been too weak to control the thing,” Viconia snapped. “But judging by the fact that it hasn't killed you already, when it easily could have, there's obviously enough of her left in there to influence its actions.”

That explained it's odd behavior earlier. When it was about to attack him, then stopped, and seemed to be struggling with itself.

_She's still alive._

Sarevok closed his eyes and focused on the Slayer. Bloodlust, almost sexual in its intensity, and an otherworldly consciousness met his seeking touch. He ignored it, and instead sought what he normally felt when their two halves made any contact. That spark that was unique to Ilyrana alone.

Minutes ticked by, but he didn't notice. Lost inside their soul, he dove deeper and deeper into those murky waters, forcing his will through the growing pressure around him.

He could hear screaming. An animal’s screams, he thought, though he didn't know if they were in his head or outside. Beneath that sound was another; a deep, cavernous voice that thundered throughout the depths. Bhaal's voice. He recognized it from when he had still been a bhaalspawn. When that voice once boomed inside his dreams.

He saw flashes of images, memories, impressions. A thousand different faces of people Ilyrana had murdered. Some of them shone differently in the darkness than the others. And he somehow knew their vibrancy was based on how she had felt about killing them.

He saw the blood-stained table with the straps that she had once laid upon while Irenicus did unspeakable things to her body, mind, and soul.

He saw Candlekeep. And Gorion.

He saw the temple they had lived at together as children.

He saw their tree. A vivid picture of shapes and words they had carved into its trunk and branches, memories he had forgotten about.

He saw himself, as a young, haunted boy, with golden eyes filled with exasperation and a fierce possessive love. He saw the man he had become, through her sight, his eyes now filled with hate, and devoid of any warmth or affection. Watched her try and reconcile the two, as if they were two puzzle pieces that should connect to make a larger whole, but she couldn't figure out how they were supposed to fit.

He saw her staring into a broken mirror. Filled with fear, and anguish, that she couldn't tell if it was her reflection staring back, or her mother's. Her mind splintered like the glass, and he felt the creeping madness she was afraid she had inherited.

He saw a candle, burned down to just a small stump of melted wax, it's flame so low that anything more than a sigh would extinguish its light.

And then… he realized that that small flame was _her._ That she was almost gone. Soon to be nothing more than a whisper in the darkness. Desperately he reached for her, wrapping himself around that tiny spark to preserve it.

“Sarevok!”

The drow. Her voice sounded miles away. He opened his eyes. Saw the Slayer charging across the springs toward him, its eyes burning brighter than the candle’s flame.

Gritting his teeth, he began pulling her towards the surface, blocking out what he saw before him so he could concentrate on what was happening inside. He felt her strain against him, trying to descend once again. Tightening his hold, he forced her higher. He felt her exhaustion, her pain, her grief. He felt her desire for oblivion. Felt her conviction that she wouldn't suffer anymore if she just let go and finished falling.

Sarevok knew what waited at the bottom. He refused to let her make that final plunge into the Abyss. Weakly, she struggled against him, but he only held on tighter.

“ _S_ _arevok!”_

Was that Ilyrana’s voice or the drow’s?

A howling scream, like the one he heard moments ago in his mind, rang out again, this time from outside his head.

The Slayer had come to a stop only feet away from him. Shaking it's great horned head, its claws digging into its temples, it staggered. That long tail braced against the ground to keep it upright, but the demon listed sharply and collapsed heavily to the earth. Roaring, it dropped its claws to its torso, and started trying to shred itself open.

Sarevok stumbled back, unable to see through the chaos as he brought Ilyrana to the surface and she began fighting for control of her half of their soul. Wearily, he felt her start to wrest it back from the Slayer, and it's roars of fury turned to shrieks of pain. Those shrieks then turned to hoarse, wracking sobs.

Furiously blinking his eyes to focus, he felt Viconia push past him. As everything sharpened back into view, he saw the drow kneeling beside Ilyrana, the smaller woman’s head in her lap. He took a step closer, needing to see her. Needing to see her alive.

Her wounds were healed, mended from the transformation, he assumed. She looked paler than usual, though, and her long, tangled hair was lusterless. Tears tracked down from her closed eyes, and there were shadows as dark as bruises beneath them, and she breathed shallowly.

“She'll be fine,” Viconia said, reading the question in his eyes. “She’s weak, and will probably be in and out of consciousness for a while, but she's back, Sarevok.”

Nodding, he sat down several feet away, putting his back against a rock, not taking his gaze off the girl.

She was back.

He didn't know how to feel. About that, or her, or what he had seen and felt inside her part of their soul, or the Slayer, or anything else. Right now, he just wanted to rest.

Glancing around the area, he observed the mounds of corpses and the vultures who were just now finding the courage to descend. Not seeing any other signs of life, he once more looked at Ilyrana, watched the rise and fall of her chest, the surest sign she was indeed alive, then leaned his head back against the rock, closed his eyes, and immediately fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was one that came out almost exactly as it has been in my head this whole time. I wanted to explore the spiritual and physical ramifications of using the Slayer; getting an enormous amount of power has to come with a price, especially for someone not obsessed with power and is merely using it as a means of survival/retribution. Rana has to decide if becoming the Slayer is absolutely of dire necessity and, even if it is, if she's willing to accept the metaphysical flaying she's going to receive in the process, as well as the vast drain in her energy and strength afterwards. 
> 
> The Slayer is going to be lurking around the fringes of this story and the decision on when to use it will always have a huge impact on everyone, especially Rana, and through their soul, Sarevok, too. Amelyssan was such a lame villian, especially for the final chapter of this game, that I feel like the impending total corruption of the protagonist due to the taint and the Slayer was far more sinister than a jealous acolyte of Bhaal trying to swoop in last minute and steal the mantle of godhood.
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read this, and thank you for taking the time to comment, each one makes my day. I'll try and have the next chapter out a bit quicker.


	10. Forget to Remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some tense moments ahead. After the roller coaster of events and emotions and unearthed secrets, is it all that surprising?

** _Candlekeep, Nine Years Ago_ **

 

_Ilyrana sprinted down a candlelit corridor, the angry shouts of kitchen staff quickly fading behind her, a small bag of cinnamon apple muffins clutched tightly in one hand. As she came to the library proper, she brought the sack to her mouth, biting into the warm, fragrant linen, freeing up her hands. Not slowing her pace, she leapt onto a cart of books that needed to be returned to their spots on the shelves and used it to spring up, grasp the top of a bookshelf, and haul herself up._

_Wasting no time, she backed up a few paces, then took two bounding steps and leapt, clearing the guard rail around the second floor. She hit the stone ground and rolled to lessen the impact; coming back up, she transferred her loot back to her hand, and continued her headlong run with no speed lost. Rows of musty books blurred past on either side of her as she headed deeper into the library, trying to put distance between herself and her pursuers before heading over to the stables to rendezvous with Imoen._

_Sliding around a corner, she didn't see the man standing directly in the middle of the aisle until she had plowed right into him. The book he had been holding hit the floor with a resounding thud. She would have fallen, but the stranger caught her against his chest._

_“Ya know, there's benches and chairs and tables to sit at, so you don't have to stand there and read where people walk.” Ilyrana grumbled as she rubbed her head and peered up at the man, trying to see his face beneath the cowl he wore._

_“Walk? Is that what you were doing?”_

_Ilyrana huffed, tucked her hair behind a pointed ear, and stepped back so she wouldn't have to crane her neck so much to look at him. Even though his hood was pulled low enough that she couldn't see much anyway. He must be one of the guest scholars. His voice was too deep for her not to recognize it if it were one of the monks._

_He bent down and retrieved the fallen book, slipping it into his robes before she could get a glance at the title._

_“What were you running from, little one?”_

_Even though she couldn't see it, she could_ feel _his eyes burning into her with startling intensity. Feigning nonchalance, she dusted herself off and ensured none of her precious cargo had been damaged._

_“Old Winthrop. He doesn't take kindly to people filching his muffins.”_

_The man took a step toward her, head tilted to the side somewhat. He seemed about to say something further, but the sound of a door slamming and raised voices began to drift up from the bottom floor._

_“Gotta go!”_

_Ilyrana sprang around him and loped to the nearest reading nook set against a window. Scrambling onto the sill, she deftly picked the lock with a hair pin and let it swing open. Taking a quick glance down over the edge, she turned and looked back at the stranger._

_“Do me a favor? Can you go back to blocking the middle of the aisle? You're big enough that I think you could even slow Winthrop down.”_

_“Cheeky little-”_

_“Oh! And thanks for this!”_

_Grinning, she withdrew the dagger she had swiped from him when he was steadying her. Twirling it between her fingers, the light spilling from the window caught the veins of jet and amber running through the polished wood of the handle, she slid it back into her belt, gave the man an exaggerated bow, and dropped out of the window._

_Catching onto a stone handhold, she began shimmying her way quickly down to the lawns around the keep. Chuckling to herself, she imagined the stranger still standing up there, cursing her. Oh well, that's what he gets for getting in her way._

_Landing on the grass below, she began tearing toward the stables, where she and Imoen had a secret hideout in the lofts that no one else could reach but them._

_“Morning Dreppin!”_

_“G'morning Rana. Sun's barely up and you're already retreating to the stables? Whatcha done this time?”_

_In reply, she tossed a muffin at him as she began scrambling up a hay bale._

_“You didn't see me!” She called as she disappeared into the shadows of the rafters above._

_“No ma'am, I didn't,” Dreppin hollered back before taking a bite out of the pastry._

_“Though, I can't rightly explain why I smell like cinnamon if ole Winthrop comes sniffing around.”_

_“Tell him you're trying a new salve for your rheumatism!”_

_Shaking his head with amusement, Dreppin stuffed the last of the bribe into his mouth and went back to raking hay, fighting back a smile as he heard the giggles of two mischievous girls fill the barn._

 

* * *

 

 

Ilyrana’s eyelids felt almost too heavy to open, the very effort of doing so seemed to sap what little strength she had.

Blearily, she tried to focus on the only source of light in front of her. She realized it was coming from a campfire, only several feet away from her, yet she couldn't feel the heat coming off of it. In fact, she couldn't feel much at all. Her whole body seemed to be numb, perhaps from cold? Despite the fact she was wrapped in her fur blankets?

Losing the battle to keep her eyes open, she drifted in a restless purgatory of semi-consciousness. Dimly, the memory she had dreamed replayed in her mind. Like so much else, it was one she had forgotten, for whatever reason. She didn't know whether to blame time, repression, or Gorion for how much was obviously missing from her recollections.

What ever happened to that dagger she had stolen? Was it still in Candlekeep? Locked away with the rest of her possessions she was forced to leave behind? Or had she taken it with her that day she and Gorion had left home?

Gods, she had been young. Perhaps twelve then? Meaning she was around sixteen when she killed for the first time. And about eighteen when she had struck Sarevok down.

Had she ever made the obvious connection that that man she had run into had been Sarevok? Only four years before he came for her. She wondered now if he had known at the time what he was. What she was. That she was a potential obstacle he would need to destroy to ensure she didn't interfere with his plans. The irony that by making her his enemy he had sealed his own fate, must still sting. That by pursuing her, he had forged her into something far stronger than she might have ever become otherwise.

Voices floated through her semi-awake mind, teasing her back to the threshold of consciousness. What felt like ice brushed against her forehead, followed by swearing in the drow tongue.

“She's still unable to regulate her temperature, she's burning up now.”

Strong arms lifted her with apparent ease and moved her away from the light. Almost immediately, her mind became a little sharper, enough so that, when she was laid back down, she could wiggle out of the furs she was wrapped in.

“Rana?”

Viconia. Slowly, Ilyrana looked up and focused on the drow's striking face. She saw concern, then a flicker of relief, before the haughtiness fell back into place.

“Welcome back. Are you going to stay conscious long enough to eat this time?”

Ilyrana gagged at the thought of food.

“You need to eat, abbil. You know I would be more than happy to force it down your throat.”

Ilyrana gave a half-hearted hiss and, with as much dignity as she could muster in her current condition, rolled over, putting her back to the drow.

“As you will. You can be the first bhaalspawn to die of pig-headedness.”

“Second,” Ilyrana mumbled, her voice coming out raspy and slightly slurred. “Sarevok was the first.”

There was a faint snort from somewhere in front and to the right of her. It took a minute for her eyes to refocus, but she eventually noticed Sarevok reclining against a rock, his face unreadable as he gazed back at her.

“Eat, Ilyrana. I will not be remembered as the bhaalspawn who was killed by the woman who willingly starved herself to death.”

“Typical. Always making it about you.”

“Naturally. Now _eat.”_

“Go fuck yourself.”

There was a sound of disgust from somewhere, Ilyrana couldn't tell if it had come from Viconia or Sarevok. She didn't care. The night air seemed to have suddenly dropped in temperature, and she was more concerned with trying to get her furs back over herself.

“I won't carry you back to the fire until you eat, little fool.”

“Guess you'll be remembered as the bhaalspawn who was killed by the woman who froze to death then, asshole,” Ilyrana growled back, feeling another wave of exhaustion crash over her, but unwilling to allow him the last word.

If he replied, she didn't hear him, as the sound of Imoen's voice began growing louder...and louder…

 

* * *

 

 

**_Candlekeep, Seven Years Ago_ **

 

_“Rana?”_

_…_

_“Rana, answer me!”_

_…_

_“Please, you're scaring me!”_

_…_

_“RANA!”_

_The air in Ilyrana's lungs went out with a_ woosh _when she was suddenly knocked onto her backside._

_“Imoen? What's going on? Why'd you push me down? … and why are we outside?”_

_“You were sleepwalking! AGAIN!”_

_“I...was? How long have I been out here?”_

_Imoen extended a hand down to the older girl and helped her to her feet. Ilyrana's hand felt frozen, and upon closer inspection, Imoen could see that her lips were tinged blue, and her cheeks were red from the cold and the harsh winter winds._

_“I dunno, Rana. I snuck into your room to see if you wanted to finish reading that romance novel that we stole from Phlydia. You were gone. Last time you were sleepwalking, you came up here, so I checked to see if you had come back and I found you.”_

_Ilyrana slowly stepped back up to gaze over the ramparts. All she could see was frothy waves crashing against the cliffs below, and a starry sky ahead. She didn't know why she sleepwalked. She didn't know why she always came to this spot on the northernmost walls._

_“What was I doing when you got here?”_

_“Same thing as all the other times. Just standing there staring over the ramparts.”_

_Ilyrana furrowed her brow in confusion and tried not to let her uneasiness show on her face. She knew her best friend was worried about her involuntary nighttime excursions, and so far Imoen had kept her promise not to tell Gorion. She didn't know why, but the thought of her foster father knowing about them scared her more than the sleepwalking itself did. He had always been patient and kind to her, had rarely ever raised his voice in anger, and though he didn't really show her much affection, she knew he loved her and wanted her safe and happy. Still… a tiny voice inside her mind told her that Gorion couldn't know about this secret._

_“Rana, can you remember if you were dreaming? And what it might have been about?”_

_“Huh? Oh, um, no. I wasn't dreaming I don't think.”_

_Or rather, if she had been dreaming, she couldn't remember what it was about now. Maybe she should go talk to Elvenhair about it? Or perhaps someone in the infirmary?_

_“Hmm… well, do you have_ any _idea why this keeps happening? It's really starting to scare me.”_

_Ilyrana pursed her lips and continued staring out into the distance, as if maybe the stars or the moon would enlighten her. She shivered from the freezing air, her long-sleeved nightgown provided almost no protection against the biting wind. She didn't seem to notice, though, because the longer she looked into the horizon, the harder it was to keep herself grounded in the here and now. It felt like she had forgotten something. Or that she needed to be somewhere, but couldn't remember where or why._

_“Did you hear me?”_

_No… that wasn't quite it either. It was more like… something to the north was calling to her. That she could only hear its call when her mind was quiet enough to catch it, like when she was asleep. There was a forest not far north from here._

_“Hey, why aren't you answering me?”_

_Cloakwood forest. That's what it was called. Though Ilyrana couldn't be certain that the pull was coming from there. It felt farther away than that._

_“Rana?”_

_Baldur's Gate was farther north. What could be there, though, that would have anything to do with her? She had never been there. Had never left Candlekeep. So, why did she feel like she needed to go there? That something was waiting for her?_

_Something… or_ someone _?_

_She was suddenly jerked around, so ferociously that she nearly lost her balance._

_“THAT'S IT! I'm telling Gorion!” Imoen cried, her nails biting into Ilyrana's arm hard enough to break the skin._

_“What?! No, you can't!”_

_Panic rose inside her, faster and stronger than the wind whipping around her. He couldn't know about this. Even if this was all just her imagination, just a weird fluke of her childhood that she would probably grow out of eventually, that small voice, be it instinct, or paranoia, or whatever, screamed that Gorion having this knowledge was dangerous to her._

_Somehow, in some way, if her foster father found out about the sleepwalking, and especially that strange pull from the north, he would prevent her from ever finding out who was up there. And why she felt this irrational need to go to them._

_“Look, I'm sorry, Im. I know this is weird, and it makes you worry, but please… PLEASE don't tell Gorion.”_

_“Are you serious?! You just spaced on me while you're awake, and you don't want me to tell Gorion? Don't you think he might be able to stop this from happening again?”_

_“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, it's not like it's bad or anything, it's just… well,_ weird, _I know, but-”_

_“What happens if you come down with a fever because you've been standing out here in nothing but your shift?! What happens if whatever is making you sleepwalk makes you jump off the ramparts?”_

_“Imoen-”_

_“What happens if you start strangling more than Reevor’s cats, Ilyrana?! Yeah, I know about that!”_

_The dread that had begun to gnaw at her insides was now tearing and chewing its way deep into her stomach. Her normally pale face went bone white with shock._

_“How… how long have you known?”_

_“Since I overheard Reevor complaining that the rats in his warehouse must be eating his cats because they were going missing! Since I found the shallow graves you made for them behind the temple of Oghma! Since I dug one of them up and saw the cuts around its neck! SINCE I SAW YOU WRAP A STRING OF LEATHER AROUND ONE'S THROAT AND CHOKE IT TO DEATH!”_

_Ilyrana wrapped her arms around herself, now acutely aware of just how cold it was. She looked down at the stone beneath her bare feet. There was no explanation that made any sense that she could give Imoen. No reasonable excuse for her horrible actions. Nothing she could voice out loud that wouldn't leave her feeling insane. Like a gibbering crazy person._

_“Why didn't you bring this up before?”_

_“What was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to know how you were going to react? Between the cats and the sleepwalking, I feel like I don't know who you are anymore! Rana, you SCARE me!”_

_Those words hurt. Ilyrana could feel them, like a lash against her heart, leaving her raw and bleeding._

_“I… I’m sorry, Im. I… don't know why I do it-”_

_“LIAR! If you can't tell me the truth, I'll go wake up Gorion right now and tell him everything!”_

_“Please, Im. I'm so, so sorry. Please, don't tell him. You know I would never hurt you. I won't do it anymore. I promise. I won't kill anymore cats, or anything else. I'll start locking my door when I go to bed, see if that will stop the sleepwalking. Just… please, don't tell Gorion!”_

_“Then tell me why, Rana. I have to know. You're my best friend. I love you. Let me help you,” Imoen sobbed as she threw her arms around Ilyrana._

_Together, they sank to the ground, arms wrapped tightly around one another. Ilyrana let her sob into her neck, stroking the younger girl’s unruly red hair while she tried to think of what to say. She didn't want Imoen to be afraid of her, but she didn't see how telling her would help. If anything, the truth would probably confirm that she did have good reason to be scared._

_“Rana… you can't always be the strong one. Sometimes you have to let_ me _protect_ you. _Please, just tell me.”_

_Ilyrana closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Still holding Imoen close, so that she wouldn't have to look her in the eye while she spoke, she shared her burden with the girl who was like a sister to her._

_“I've been having these dreams. Sometimes I don't remember what they were about, but I wake up feeling angry for no reason. Really angry. And nothing I do can get it out. Can make it go away. Other times, I remember the dreams so vividly that I have trouble convincing myself that what I saw in them wasn't real. Those dreams… I wake up feeling like I'm going mad. I see things that I've never seen before. That I pray to the gods I never see while I'm awake. In those dreams… I murder people. I've watched myself bash Dreppin’s face in with a rock. I've put a kitchen knife through Phlydia’s neck. I've shot arrows into Jondalar’s back while he ran from me. I've taken a rope and wrapped it around Gorion's neck and pulled until his eyes bulged and his face turned purple. I've… I've… gods… I've whipped you in the back with leather until there was hardly any skin left. What kind of person am I for dreaming these things? Who even has that kind of imagination to conjure up images like that? Someone who's sick and twisted. Someone who's evil. Those are the only kind of people who would have dreams like that. And the cats? Imoen, one minute I'm trying to do my chores, or I'm studying for a test that Tethtoril is going to give us later, and the next, my hands are sticky with blood and I have a mutilated cat at my feet. Was I supposed to bring its corpse to Reevor and tell him I found it that way? How many dead cats is it going to take before he figures it out? Before he tells Gorion? Before I'm locked away, or sent somewhere else, or told that I can't go anywhere near you because I might get bored with animals and move on to people? There's something wrong with me! Something very, very wrong. When I sleepwalk, I feel like I need to be somewhere. That there's someone who needs me. Someone north of here. Baldur's Gate, perhaps. Maybe they can tell me what's wrong? Or maybe they're the one giving me these dreams somehow? Gods, I sound like a raving lunatic! Imoen… WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!”_

_Imoen pulled away and looked at Ilyrana. Saw the terror. Saw a young woman look so haunted that the shadows inside her mind might actually scare her to death._

_Slowly, gently, Imoen placed a hand on each side of Ilyrana's head, felt the freezing tips of her pointed ears beneath her palms, and pressed her forehead against the other girl's._

_“Rana,” she whispered, unable to stop the tears that were still streaming down her face. “You are NOT sick and twisted. You are NOT evil. You are the kindest, bravest, and strongest girl I know. Whatever is happening with these dreams and the sleepwalking, whatever is calling to you, we will beat it together. Gorion himself has said that the main reason he won't let us leave Candlekeep ever is because he's afraid we'll take over the world.”_

_Ilyrana choked out a laugh. Placing her own hands over Imoen's, she threaded their fingers together and lowered them to her lap. Watching her own movements, she gently rubbed the girl's hands to try and warm them._

_“Rana, I love you. We're a team. I'm never going to leave you. Especially when you obviously need me. Please, don't shut me out again. I can't help you if you don't talk to me. Promise me, Rana. No. More. Secrets.”_

_“I love you, too. And I promise, Imoen. No more secrets.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Ilyrana jerked awake. It was night still. She didn't know how much time had passed since she was last awake. Was it the same night? Or the next? Had it only been minutes since her last dream? Or hours?

Rolling onto her back, she pressed her palms into her eyes. She felt like the dream had leached something inside her just as effectively as the Slayer had. As hunger was doing. She could almost still feel the freezing, salty air playing in her hair. Could almost remember the sound of the waves breaking against rock. Could almost still feel that cancerous despair when Imoen had uttered that Ilyrana scared her. It was so similar to how she had felt when she had the chance to tell Imoen about Sarevok, about their past, about _everything_. The chance she didn't take. The promise that she broke.

_No more secrets._

_LIAR!_

Taking a deep breath, she slowly sat up, feeling every muscle in her stomach protest at the movement. Bringing her knees up to her chest, she rested her forehead on them and waited for the world to stop spinning. Moments later, she raised her head and looked around.

The nearby campfire was barely more than smoldering embers now. A bedroll lay on the other side of it, but it was empty. Turning her head, she kicked in her Infravision and swept her gaze across the springs. Viconia was patrolling near the path, absently kneeling down on occasion to pluck something of value from one of the corpses that littered the earth. Turning her head the other way, she locked eyes with Sarevok.

He was still reclining against the same rock, though he no longer wore his armor. He had one knee up, with his arm draped across it, a wineskin dangling from his fingers. Something in his eyes made her feel exposed. Like a deer who suddenly realizes it's entered the lion’s den. It didn't stop her from glancing down at the wineskin, though. Alcohol. Sweet, sweet alcohol.

“You, uh… gonna drink all that?”

Sarevok didn't respond. Just continued staring at her. Ilyrana huffed and reached over to grab her Bag of Holding that laid nearby. Digging through it, she pulled out a wrapped bundle of dried venison and a skin of what she hoped was wine. She was disappointed when she tasted only tepid water after uncorking the skin, but she did need it, so she drained it all. Ripping off a strip of the meat with her teeth, she continued rummaging through her bag until she found a flask of whiskey she had obviously forgotten about. Upending it, she swallowed every last drop with a sigh, all the while pointedly ignoring Sarevok's increasingly uncomfortable stares.

Eventually, she began unstrapping the armor she still wore. The long-sleeved shirt she had on beneath it was damp with sweat, so when she pulled the rest of the leather off, the fabric clung to her skin. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Sarevok finally turn his head and look away.

Someone had taken off her boots and belt. She kept the soft doeskin breeches on, simply because she had nothing to change into that wasn't just as dirty. Trying to run a hand through her hair, and having it snag the second she threaded her fingers through it, she plucked a thin cord of worn leather from her bag and began tying her hair up into a bun. The blood dried into her locks and the leather in her hands reminded her of the dream. Of the cats.

“Tell me something, Ilyrana,” Sarevok finally spoke, the measured tone of his words unable to hide a purr of menace. “Was your most recent dream just that? Or another memory?”

Ilyrana froze, her hands still on her hair as she finished adjusting it. Emotions flickered through her too fast to even process. Fear. Confusion. Uncertainty. Weariness.

And rage.

It seared it's way through her, burning away the other useless, cumbersome feelings, and giving her her first taste of clarity in days.

“ _Fuck you,_ ” she whispered, slowly lowering her hands to her lap and staring straight ahead, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her eyes flare with golden light. “Stay the hell out of my head.”

“Come now, Rana. You and I both know I have no control over this.”

“Have you _fucking tried_ to control it?”

“Why would I? It would likely be a fruitless effort, anyway, and I'm beginning to see just how enlightening this phenomenon can be.”

Ilyrana finally looked at him. His eyes flashed like a wolf’s from the darkness, the gold brightening in time with his thoughts and mood. His lips were turned up in the barest of smirks.

“What are you playing at, now?”

“I’m just trying to piece together everything I've seen these past couple of days. There's been so much information you've dumped into my lap that I want to ensure I understand it all.”

Grinding her teeth, Ilyrana tried to push away the lingering effects of her most recent dream. Her skin still tingled from the transformation, occasionally strong enough that she lost feeling altogether. Exhaustion came in waves, punctuated by splitting headaches that lasted a few seconds before disappearing. She was in no condition to deal with Sarevok. In any capacity.

“Your point, _brother,_ ” she hissed, putting a slight inflection on the last word, and noticing his eyes narrow slightly at the word.

“My point, _dear sister_ , is that I should not have allowed the return of those memories to stay my hand all those years ago. Had I known what I know now, I would have put you out of your misery and pushed on towards godhood. Frankly, after watching your incompetent approach at 'leadership’, as well as the bumbling idiocy of your lackeys, I'm positive that I would have attained it long before now. _How_ you're still alive, when you stumble blindly, and often _drunkenly_ , through this war is a question that likely keeps the sages awake at night, just as deep in their cups as you commonly are. _Why_ you've been gifted with a power like the Slayer, yet turn your nose up at using it, except to save me, is also just as bewildering. As is whatever sentimental reason you had for doing so, though I won't even try to puzzle that one out, likely it's just as pathetic as your dreams. Watching you weep over dead animals and the foolish little conundrum of your sleepwalking only further proves my assessment. I sincerely hope you've been able to deduce by now that it was _I_ who was waiting for you in Baldur's Gate. That it was our repressed memories attempting to bridge the gap. And, judging by our conversation the night before last, you've romanticized it to the point that you nearly pined away after my death. Such a waste. I don't know whether to be amused by whatever girlish displays are sure to come in the future, or sick at the knowledge that Alaundo’s Prophecy may actually center on a silly little girl who thinks becoming a god is beneath her and yet _chooses_ to be too weak to defend herself and her companions when there's power there to be wielded. You will fall, sooner rather than later, without me even having to raise my hand to aid in your defeat, and you will lose so much more than I ever did simply because you leap headlong into your own failure.”

Ilyrana snapped.

Wrapping a hand around the handle of a dagger she had brushed against in her bag, she painfully, but gracefully, rose to her feet. Her eyes were solidly lit orbs of yellow now, their light rivaling the stars’. Sarevok didn't move, hadn't moved during his speech, but she noted his gaze flick to the sword that lay beside him.

“Oh, Sarevok. You honestly believe that I give a single fuck what you think of me, my leadership, or my friends? Why in the Nine Hells would I? At least none of them have ever betrayed me. Not willingly anyway. Unlike your own. Did _you_ ever deduce how I came to possess your journals and the damning evidence of your schemes? Who left me the trail of breadcrumbs that would allow me to expose you during your coronation as a Grand Duke? Here's a hint: It was the same person who graciously loaned me their sword so I could kill you while _you_ were distracted by your own sentimentality. And while we're talking about _Tamoko, have_   _you_ stopped being self-absorbed long enough to appreciate the fact that she was _right_ about how utterly _wrong_ you were about Alaundo’s Prophecy? Hells, you're right, the prophecy could be about me, but at least I'm not betting everything on that possibility, then whining when it turns out I was wrong. And you know what, I didn't _ask_ you to come along! And I sure as shit won't give a damn if you leave! But the longer you stick around, bemoaning your obvious jealousy over how far I've come, _despite you,_ I'll be more than happy to escort you back to your lonely corner of the Abyss. Yeah, I don't _enjoy_ using the Slayer, but don't flatter yourself for a single second thinking I won't use it to put you down, yet again, just as easily as I used it to protect you. And you want to sneer at me about saving you because of some 'sentimental reason’, but you seem to have already forgotten whatever reason _you_ had for bringing me back, rather than letting the Slayer finish me off completely. Instead of turning tail and running away, as I expected you to, you stayed and helped me get back control. Why, _brother_? Tell me-”

Sarevok surged to his feet, sword in one hand, his other shooting out to clamp around her throat. He felt the sharp cut of her knife pressed against his stomach when he dragged her closer. He didn't let her go, but he didn't squeeze either, just kept his hand wrapped around her neck, and she looked up at him, eyes blazing, but fearless.

“Do something,” Ilyrana whispered, the steel biting a little bit deeper, taunting him.

She watched his fury encourage him to roll the dice. He could snap her neck in a second. The same amount of time it would take her to slip her blade in far enough to nick something vital.

“In my mind, I've done this a thousand times,” he whispered back, pulling her closer still, and ignoring the blood that was beginning to soak into his shirt. “I can almost predict how your ashes will settle to the earth. The only thing missing from each iteration is my own death. So you're safe this time. Next time, little one… you better not make the same mistake I did years ago and hesitate.”

“ _Liar_ ,” she hissed. “I think you can drop the bullshit, Sarevok. We both know you can't do it. If you could, I wouldn't be standing here. There's a plethora of reasons why I can't sleep at night. _Fear of you, and what you might do, doesn't make the list._ Do something already, or get the fuck out of my face.”

She felt his fingers twitch against her skin, felt the muscles in his hand try to tighten. For the briefest of moments, she thought he might actually do it. It was there in his eyes. The hate.

His words, the dreams, her memories, her exhaustion, the Slayer, all of it, made it so that she wasn't entirely sure what she wanted more. For him to allow her to call his bluff, or for him to prove her wrong. In this moment, she found it difficult to care.

She watched him glance down at the knife. Saw surprise light his face, before being replaced with something akin to grim resignation. His eyes found hers again. Gently, he released his hold on her, his calloused fingers brushing briefly against her collarbone before dropping to his side. His sword fell to the ground beside him.

A little confused, Ilyrana glanced down at the knife in her hand, and stilled. The light shining from her eyes glinted off the familiar amber and jet colored glass that was entwined in the mahogany wood of it's handle.

“You're right, I can't do it. If you would be so kind, though, I would appreciate it if you returned the dagger you stole from me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to toe the line between "angst" and "too far, there's no going back for them, or going forward."
> 
> Next chapter, we're going to get a look at Sarevok's side of that encounter.


	11. Not Strong Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I'd like to deeply thank CMY187 on Fanfiction.net for offering their extensive compilation of BG material. Without it, I would have never been inspired to take a closer look at Tamoko, beyond her obvious tragic story arc.
> 
> Second, this chapter marks a beginning of sorts for Ilyrana and Sarevok. They still have a long way to go, but their path going forward is starting to become a little clearer.
> 
> Thank you all for reading <3

_I'm not strong enough to stay away_  
_Can't run from you_  
_I just run back to you_  
_Like a moth I'm drawn into your flame_  
_Say my name, but it's not the same_  
_You look in my eyes, I'm stripped of my pride_  
_And my soul surrenders, and you bring my heart to it's knees_  
_And it's killin' me when you're away, I wanna leave and I wanna stay_  
_And I'm so confused, So hard to choose_  
_Between the pleasure and the pain_  
_And I know it's wrong, and I know it's right_  
_Even if I try to win the fight, my heart would overrule my mind_ _  
_ _And I'm not strong enough to stay away_

- _Not Strong Enough, Apocalyptica_

_Sarevok_

 

They had been on the move for two days now. Picking their way through the rocky countryside, Sarevok, Ilyrana, and Viconia would reach the foothills surrounding the Marching Mountains by nightfall. Yesterday, Ilyrana had picked up the trail of Imoen and the others, and though their progress was slow, due to Ilyrana still recovering her strength, it looked like they might overtake them in a few more days.

The trek was relatively uneventful, though fraught with a silent tension that had been building since Sarevok and Ilyrana's standoff. Adding to the brewing storm was Viconia, who had begun trying to coax Sarevok into sharing her bedroll.

Caught between an enraged elven ranger who almost lustfully caressed her bow and stroked her newly-fletched arrows tipped with serrated steel heads dipped in a paralytic toxin anytime he came near her, and a vicious dark elven cleric who could potentially refuse to heal his wounds, or even decide to hit him with a debilitatingly painful spell if she felt rejected, Sarevok's temper was strained to its limit.

Walking several yards behind Viconia, who was even further back from Ilyrana, Sarevok took a moment to savor his temporary solitude and reflect on the irritating, and dangerous, position he found himself in.

Though the drow was stunning in form, with a voice that could enthrall weaker men, he was no fool. He knew of the predilections of her kind, particularly the females. He didn't possess a single submissive bone in his body and he sincerely doubted she would accept anything less than total surrender in the bedroom. From experience, Sarevok did not enjoy fighting for dominance during sex, at least not for long, so however honeyed her propositions were, he ignored them.

Which was fast becoming ineffectual.

“So, Sarevok, have you had enough time to find your courage and reconsider my offer?”

Viconia had dropped back and was now walking only a few paces in front of him, with a subtly exaggerated sway in her hips. Releasing an annoyed sigh, he stepped around her so that she couldn't pull the same trick she had yesterday. When she had suddenly stopped just in front of him, so that, when he collided with her, she arched back against him like a cat, giving him an idea of what her body felt like. Naturally, Ilyrana had chosen that exact moment to look back, raise one delicate eyebrow at them, then turn back around and resume walking. It had taken a godly amount of effort on his part not to strangle the drow. Coupled with the fact that the sweltering heat provided the perfect excuse to shed her armor and clothing to the point that there was little left to the imagination, her antics were pushing him closer to violence than desire.

“No, drow. I am no one's plaything and I doubt you would live through trying to mold me into one. Work your charms on someone else once we return to civilization. Until then, leave me be.”

“Tell me something, _jaluk_ , would you be this dismissive if I were Ilyrana?

“Yes,” he bit out, feeling his temper fray even more. “If I wanted easy, Viconia, I would seek out a whore.”

“Ah, so the chase is just as important to you as the prey is. I should have guessed. Your methods for the pursuit, though, leave much to be desired. I'm curious to see how you plan on resuming the hunt after your latest debacle.”

“What are you going on about? Speak plainly. I haven't the patience for your games.”

“Very well. I've seen the way you look at her, Sarevok. I know that, despite your past and your shared blood, or perhaps because of these things, you desire her. You reach high for one such as she, but you already know this. What I fail to see, however, is how you think that threatening and insulting her is going to make her more inclined to allow you into her bed.”

“You presume much.”

“Do I? I think not. You would do well to work your way back into her good graces, if you were ever even there to begin with. And do it soon. Lest she decide that she prefers you dead. And wouldn't that be a pity.”

“I was under the impression that you desired me in _your_ bed.”

“I really do miss the training of pleasure slaves. Your arrogance and domineering nature would be most fun to break, though humans usually don't fare so well. Your minds are too rigid to bend. Either way, as long as you're being used, I won't quibble about the details.”

And with that, Viconia’s entire sultry demeanor vanished. Quickening her stride, she resumed her position to the middle of them.

Watching the sudden shift in her behavior left him wondering if the attempted seduction had been in earnest after all. Or if she had merely used it as a ploy to have this particular conversation. Hells, she could have just been bored.

_Women._

At least, for now, he thought he was safe from one of them. Turning his attention back to it's most frequent target, his gaze once again settled on Ilyrana. She had slowed her relentless pace somewhat and was now close enough that he could faintly see the scars along her spine. Like the drow, she had shed some of her clothing to stay cool, though not nearly as much. Thin leggings, knee-high boots, and a loose cotton shirt with sleeves that hung off her shoulders, her attire could be called modest if it didn't expose more of her skin, and her shape, than he had seen before. Her hair was braided over one shoulder, and she seemed to be alternating between twirling one of her small knives and unbraiding and rebraiding the sable locks.

Watching the steel flash in the sunlight as it blurred around her fingers, he couldn't help but drop his hand to the dagger hanging from his belt. The one she had stolen from him years ago. He had forgotten about it. And that random encounter. It had been the first time he laid eyes on her since Gorion had torn her away from him. That bastard's spell had been effective. He didn't recognize her at all. But it was far from perfect.

She had been young, young enough that he wouldn't have hardly noticed her, even barreling into him as she had done, but those whiskey colored eyes, wide and expressive, had captivated him. The way she had looked up at him, head tilted to the side, brow furrowed, lips pursed, had teased at his memory. The mischievous grin, and the graceful way she moved, had kept him staring out that window long after she had disappeared into the barn.

He remembered a past conversation with his mentor, Winski, about the possibility of a bhaalspawn being kept hidden at Candlekeep. It had been a couple of years since that chance meeting, but he knew it must be her.

“ _I've seen her. Young elven girl. I believe I overheard that she was a ward of that Harper, Gorion. A pity. She's a pretty little thing. Hardly old enough to pose a threat, though I suppose it would be better to kill her before that changes.”_

Even then, he had been reluctant to make the journey back to Candlekeep. Offering a small bounty for her assassination, he had hoped the problem could be dealt with without his direct involvement. The cutthroats however, had proven to be useless. In those few short years since she had run into him, she had already become a capable fighter.

Once word got back to him that she had survived the attempts on her life, other spies were already informing him that Gorion was planning on moving the girl somewhere out of his reach. He couldn't leave the matter to amateur assassins. She had to be dealt with by _him_ if he was going to be sure it was done.

The night of the ambush felt like centuries ago. He could still remember the looks that Tamoko and the hired swords had given him when he changed the plan at the last second. Originally, he wasn't going to announce his presence at all. He was there to oversee that the task was successfully carried out. Let the men he brought with him deal with whatever resistance the pair put up.

It was the sound of the old man’s voice, though, that had made him want to confront him. Something in the timber of it, perhaps, had the taint suddenly burning through him, demanding the monk’s life. When he stepped out of the shadows, he had had every intention of striking them both down, but when he locked eyes with the girl…

No, she was a girl no longer. Though still young, she was hauntingly beautiful. Those amber eyes looked much older than when he had last looked into them, and it wasn't because of time. For a reason he couldn't name that night, seeing the fear in those eyes shifted something in the taint. He wasn't walking away until Gorion was dead at his feet. The elf, though, he wanted alive and unharmed. For now. At least until he could find an answer as to why she had such an effect on him. He assumed that it must be the taint, but he hadn't felt this drawn to the others that he had slain.

“ _Hand over your ward and no one will be hurt. Refuse, and it shall be a waste of your life.”_

A lie. As the old man well knew, but Sarevok wanted to try and get the girl out of the way before they struck. A glancing blow from his sword, or a stray arrow, and this would be for naught.

“ _You're a fool if you think I would trust_ your _benevolence.”_

Something in his tone gave Sarevok the impression that the old man knew him, or knew _of_ him. He was almost certain that he had never seen the monk before. The fury seething inside him, though, was too strong to allow him the time to place where he might have seen him. His sire’s blood demanded its due, and he had waited long enough.

“ _I'm sorry you feel that way, old man.”_

The next minute happened almost too fast to recollect properly. Gorion put up a much better fight than he had anticipated. He also hadn't expected the girl to attack, as well. Two of his men fell to her arrows, and it wasn't until Tamoko grazed her with one of her own that the girl finally heeded the old man and fled.

“ _I WANT HER ALIVE!”_ He had shouted at Tamoko, furious at how close she had come to killing her.

Looking back, he knew now why watching Gorion breathe his last had filled him with such a fierce feeling of joy. In the end, Sarevok won, hadn't he? The old man was dead. He was alive. That damned spell had been broken.

He often wondered what might have happened if he had captured Ilyrana that night. Fleeing into the woods, and most likely scaling a tree to hide in until morning, Sarevok didn't have the men to send out and search. Had he, though, and she were found and brought before him, what would he have done? He doubted the fear he had first glimpsed would still be there. Her cry of anguish when her foster father fell, and what he knew of her now, she would have likely been enraged to the point where she would have ripped his throat out with her teeth if he allowed her that close.

Would their memories have returned sooner? Maybe just being near one another long enough triggered the spell to break. What would he have even done if they had? Kept her prisoner? For how long? Until they were the only bhaalspawn left and hers was the last life he needed to take before he could ascend? The only preferable part of this scenario was that he became the new Lord of Murder. The thought of her being there, just waiting for her time to come, while they both fought that strange pull, was an unpleasant one.

At least, had things happened that way, he could have protected her from Irenicus. He would have made sure no man ever touched her. Kept her safe… just to kill her in the end?

She had taken everything from him… then given him back his life. All he had now was his vengeance, but every time he found himself in a position to take it, he didn't. Couldn't. Why?

It was time to stop lying to himself. She was right. If he was going to kill her, he'd had several opportunities and did nothing; had, in fact, gone out of his way to keep her alive. He could have let her hit that Protection from Evil barrier. He could have left her to the mercenaries when he saw her fall to the crossbowmen. Could have let the Slayer finish dragging her down into the Abyss and leave her there. Each time, he didn't stop to think. Instinct had demanded that he protect her. Just as it had when they were children.

So where did that leave him? His hate was misplaced, Gorion was the one who had torn them apart, made them forget one another, and left him to wander alone before eventually being found by Rielter. She was not, as he once believed, anything like her own foster father and his ilk. She wasn't ambitious, nor did she like using her considerable power unless it was sorely needed, but she also didn't seem overly concerned about the woes of the peasants who approached her for help either. She did what she wanted because she wanted to, not because she wanted the praise or needed the flames of her ego fanned.

If he let it all go, forgave her for the part she was forced to play in this game, and accepted that he was no longer a contender for godhood… what did he have left? Where would he go? He couldn't return to Baldur's Gate, there was nothing left for him there. When you had the chance to become a god, and spent much of your adult life trying to attain that, there seemed little point in living now that it was out of reach.

He tried to imagine himself walking away from her, like he kept thinking of doing. Leaving her to her destiny, only to find out the outcome later, once the bards had formed their ballads. To hear them sing a dirge for the Hero of Baldur's Gate, slain trying to end the Bhaalspawn war. Or a song heralding her victory as the new Lady of Murder. Or maybe she'll actually succeed in getting what she wants, “freedom”, whatever that meant.

Ahead of him, he watched the girl sheath her knife, slide her shortbow off her back, knock an arrow, and fire it off towards a strand of tall grass, practically all in one smooth motion, without breaking stride. Veering in that direction, she bent down and retrieved the pheasant she had shot, removed the arrow, and dropped it into her bag. Over the next hour or so, she repeated this, until there were at least a dozen of the birds collected.

Dusk began settling across the horizon as the three entered the foothills. Dusty earth, scraggly shrubs, and crumbling boulders slowly began turning into vibrant green grasses, towering pines, and gently rolling fields of wildflowers. As they began searching for a suitable place to make camp for the night, details from her most recent dream began tugging at his attention again.

He had had many dreams in his youth that were much like the ones she had described. Visions of murder and mass genocide; the byproduct of their father's taint in their blood. What disturbed him, though, was the nature of each of the murders she had described. The parallels.

Dreppin's face bashed in with a rock. Like he had done to their half-brother when they were children, fighting over that loaf of bread.

A knife through Phlydia's neck. The knife he had sunk into Alianna's.

Arrows shot in Jondalar's back as he ran. The magic missiles Gorion had hit him with when they had tried to flee from him.

Each death mirrored the ones she had witnessed at the temple. And, even though he hadn't died that day, he may as well have to her, as their memories had been wiped clean only moments after Gorion had attacked him.

These were all explainable. What _wasn't_ explainable were the last two murders in the dream.

_“I've taken a rope and wrapped it around Gorion's neck and pulled until his eyes bulged and his face turned purple. I've… I've… gods… I've whipped you in the back with leather until there was hardly any skin left.”_

Rielter garroting his stepmother.

Rielter scourging him for disloyalty.

There was no rational explanation for how she could have known about that at the time. Nor could it be just a coincidence. There _were_ no coincidences with her involved. The dagger was an uncanny enough reminder of that.

“This is as good a place as any,” he heard Ilyrana say as they reached a stream running lazily between two oak trees.

Without a word, he began gathering up firewood and kindling, still mulling over this newest puzzle piece of Ilyrana’s. The more he thought about it, the longer he looked at the chain of events in their lives, the more uneasy he became. Since the beginning, when they had forged a friendship in the temple of Bhaal, their paths had been permanently entwined. A friendship that was unheard of among their kind. Every other Bhaalspawn mistrusted each other on principal, and ached to kill one another by instinct, driven by the taint to do what was needed to fuel their father’s rebirth.

Yet he and Ilyrana had bonded. Bonded in such a way that not even a powerful spell cast by a powerful man could make them completely forget one another. Not even his undoing could stop him from trying to protect her, regardless of how much he wished otherwise.

Settling in for the evening, they reclined around the campfire and began to eat the roasted pheasants Ilyrana had shot. Sarevok ate mechanically, barely noticing when Viconia announced she would take the first watch after she cleaned up in the stream. It wasn't until the drow was gone, and he and Ilyrana were left alone, on opposite sides of the fire, that his awareness of her became strong enough to pull him from his brooding.

She had barely touched her dinner. In order to regain all of the energy she had lost to become the Slayer, she needed to eat, more than the rest of them, yet she seemed repulsed by food. Thinking back to that last night in the inn, when he saw her dream of Irenicus, he supposed she figured there would be less to throw up when the nightmares came if she didn't eat a lot or often.

He watched her stare blankly into the flames, it's glow emphasizing the shadows still under her eyes. He wondered what she was thinking about. If she was replaying what he had said to her a few nights ago as he had been doing. They hadn't spoken a word to each other since then. Though he didn't want to break the silence, there was one question their conversation had birthed that he needed an answer to.

“The other night… you mentioned that Tamoko had been there in the end, and had helped you kill me. I had sent her out to slow you down as I prepared for our final confrontation. I had sent her to what I thought would be her death. You didn't kill her.”

Not so much a question as a statement, but Ilyrana had obviously spared his former lover, and she, in turn, had helped her. He wanted to know why. Why would she refuse to kill the woman who had aided him in killing Gorion? Whom she had still cared for at that time.

He had hated Tamoko for betraying him. When he found out that she had spoken to Ilyrana as soon as the girl entered Baldur's Gate, he had been furious. Had almost lost control and killed the only person he cared for. He knew why she had done it, she wanted Ilyrana to stop him from starting the war with Amn, because she didn't think that would work in elevating him to become the next Lord of Murder. She had been trying for months to talk him out of it, and he had grown angrier with each shouting match between them, convincing himself that she doubted only because she selfishly didn't want to let him go.

By the time he had grown tired of fighting with her, the taint had fully consumed him. He had drank too deeply of the power it promised and in return he felt nothing but rage nearly all the time. All he cared about was killing Ilyrana and ascending. However much he may have once loved Tamoko, he was capable of that emotion no longer. So, it had been easy to set her aside and take another into his bed. Someone who only cared about his power and heritage, and thus wouldn't try and hold him back. He and Cythandria had been lovers in the past, before he met Tamoko, so she was only too happy to reclaim her place at his side.

“No. I didn't kill her,” Ilyrana finally responded after tearing her eyes away from the fire to look at him.

“Why?”

Ilyrana's brows furrowed and she tilted her head, studying him with a confused expression.

“Why do you care? You were too big a coward to kill her yourself, and you threw her between us so I could do it for you. What does it matter now?”

Choking down his anger, he forced himself not to react to her words. After all, she was right.

“I cared once. Considering that she helped me kill Gorion, why _wouldn't_ you want her dead?”

“You wouldn't understand.”

“ _Then make me understand.”_

One of her knives appeared in her hand and Ilyrana began restlessly spinning it between two of her fingers. She didn't speak for some time, just stared at him, completely still except for the blade. He met her gaze and held it, waiting for her to talk, and unwilling to back down. She must have seen that in his eyes, because she let out a tired sigh and began to speak.

“She helped you kill Gorion because she loved you. Knowing I watched it happen didn't stop her from asking me to spare your life. Watching you take another woman to your bed didn't stop her from trying to save you from yourself. And being sent to die didn't stop her from doing it if her death meant she wouldn't have to feel that way anymore. Tamoko’s only mistake was loving the wrong man. I wasn't going to execute her for that and I told her as such. I refused to fight her and she no longer had the desire to fight me. I convinced her that it would be a waste to die for someone who doesn't love her anymore. So she said she was going back home, to Kara-Tur. I didn't expect her to stick around and help me bring you down.”

Sarevok didn't know how to feel about that. Any of it. There had always been a shred of guilt that he kept buried for how he had treated Tamoko in the end. It was there still, but knowing she was alive, had moved on, eased it. She wasn't dead. She hadn't paid the ultimate price for him. He felt relieved, and oddly grateful. Tamoko had still betrayed him, more thoroughly than he originally thought, but he couldn't delude himself into thinking he hadn't deserved it.

“Thank you.”

“For what? Telling you or sparing her?”

“Both.”

“Yeah, well, don't thank me. I came to sorely regret leaving your little bitch alive. Everything I just said was what I had thought. At that time. I ended up being very, very, wrong. Did you ever wonder how Tamoko came to be in Baldur's Gate? Of all places on the Sword Coast. Of all the men she could have had yet she chose you. You who turned out to be a child of Bhaal. You who had spent years undermining the Iron Throne in order to position the city for war with Amn, but then suddenly she decided your plan sucked and tried to stop you. Did you ever question any of these things?”

Ilyrana's eyes smoldered in the firelight, a warning that her wrath was stirring just beneath the surface. The sudden change in her tone and opinion of Tamoko made him wary. Before, she had sounded almost sad for the woman. Now…

“Tamoko came to Baldur's Gate to freelance her skills-”

“Bullshit.”

“You think you knew her better than I?”

“No. I think I knew her about as well as you did. Or as little, I should say. Tamoko didn't _choose_ to go to Baldur's Gate. Nor did she _choose_ you for your 'charm’ or your looks. These things were chosen for her.”

“Oh? By whom?”

“Have I never told you that I wasn't Irenicus's original target?”

Sarevok’s blood ran cold.

“What are you-”

“You were so much stronger than I was,” Ilyrana all but whispered. “He wanted _you_ . _Your_ soul. So he sent someone to steer you in the right direction. So that, when the time came, when you were at the height of your power, he could have a soul saturated with Bhaal's might.”

“How did you… _why didn't you say this sooner, Ilyrana?”_ Sarevok demanded, sick with the implications of what she was saying.

“I don't know if Tamoko had been ordered to try and sway you from igniting the war, or if she had actually fallen in love with you and was trying to save you from him,” Ilyrana continued as if he hadn't spoken. “I do know she was under a gaes. And that she's dead now because of it.”

“ _How do you know this?!”_

“How do you think? Irenicus liked the sound of his own voice. Most megalomaniacs do, as you well know-”

“ _Don't you dare compare me to him_!”

“He talked extensively of how disappointed he was that he had to make do with an inferior soul. That mine needed to be… worked on, before he was satisfied with it… I didn't find out about Tamoko's involvement though until much later.”

“ _Why the fuck-”_

“Do you know how I found out? About Tamoko? You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

Sarevok stared at Ilyrana as if he had never seen her before. Her eyes switched from haunted, to blank, to furious, and back again. How long had she been holding onto this knowledge? Why didn't she tell him?! Just like with the memories.

“Ilyrana, why haven't you told me _any_ of this before?”

A mirthless laugh escaped her throat. It sounded eerily like her mother's.

“When would have been a good time? While you were plotting my downfall? How about during the times we couldn't speak to each other for more than a minute before we started snarling and threatening? Perhaps the other night when you were telling me how I stumble blindly and drunkenly along while also sneering that I'm a foolish little girl?”

“Rana-”

“Why is it you expect me to open up and tell you all my deepest darkest secrets, at least the ones you haven't already seen in my dreams, yet you claim to want me dead? What reason do I have to believe that you care about _any_ of this, Sarevok?! You had said it would have mattered. That it _does_ still matter. How? Fucking _how?!”_

She was suddenly on her feet, swaying a little from exhaustion and malnourishment. Her long hair fell loose from the half-hearted braid it had been in. She looked much like she did as a child. Wild and fierce. Yet now, she couldn't keep the hurt out of her eyes. Couldn't hide the fact that she was bleeding inside. Had been. For so, so long. And so much of it was because of him.

He slowly stood as well, not taking his eyes off her. The fire crackled obliviously between them, the only sound now. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. The weight of the tangled webs that had been woven around them was so great that he could no longer ignore it. He couldn't keep lying to himself. Or to her.

His pride, though, kept him from speaking. The bitterness he had long clung to kept him on this side of the fire.

Ilyrana slowly shook her head, closed her eyes, and turned away, stumbling a little as she began to disappear into the shadows. His hand clenched and his heart pounded harder as he watched her walk away from him. This felt like so much more than her just giving up.

Like this would be the last time he would ever see her look at him with anything other than a detached coldness.

Like this was the last time she would ever utter a cry for help in hopes that he would hear it. Hear it and respond.

Without thinking, he stepped around the campfire and reached for her. Without thinking, his hand closed around her arm, stopping her. Without thinking, he gently turned her around to face him.

Later, he wouldn't be able to recall if he had pulled her into his arms, or if she had collapsed against him. All that would stand out in his memory is the sound of her wracking sobs as she came undone, unable to continue the fight to stay numb to all the horror she had endured. The feel of her nails biting into his chest as she clung to him, face buried in his shirt. How her hair felt beneath his lips as he pressed them to the top of her head, as he had so often done when they were children. How she felt in his arms, after so many years and blood spilt between them.

Nor would he forget how her voice sounded as she whispered “Me too” after he murmured that he was sorry.


	12. The Taste of Defeat

 

 

_Under the knife I surrendered_  
_The innocence, yours to consume_  
_You cut it away_  
_And you filled me up with hate_  
_Into the silence you sent me_  
_Into the fire consumed_  
_You thought I'd forget_  
_But it's always in my head_

_You're the pulse in my veins_  
_You're the war that I wage_  
_Can you change me?_  
_You're the love that I hate_  
_You're the drug that I take_  
_Will you cage me?_  
_You're the pulse in my veins_  
_You're the war that I wage_  
_Can you change me?_  
_From the monster you made me?_

_This is the world you've created_  
_The product of what I've become_  
_My soul and my youth_  
_Seems it's all for you to use_  
_If I could take back the moment_  
_I let you get under my skin_  
_Relent or resist_  
_Seems the monster always wins_

_\- Monster by Starset_

 

Ilyrana

_Spellhold, two years ago_

 

_It took every ounce of self-control not to slip a knife through the back of the old man's neck in front of her._

_Ilyrana and her companions had finally arrived at the secluded island that was Spellhold. On the outside, if one didn't know the purpose the place served, it could be called beautiful. Aged flights of stairs led to the raised stone foundations that several manor style structures sat imposingly upon. The largest of these was the one the “Director” was leading them to. It was obviously old, time and the elements had worn away at the stone, the faded wood, and the iron gates, but Ilyrana could feel the magics woven into the building. Magics designed to keep unwanted visitors out. And to keep its occupants_ in.

_The doddering old man who was now leading them down a corridor to the waiting room made Ilyrana's skin crawl. Maybe it was his smell, like old meat left out in the sun, or how easily they were gaining access to Imoen after the hell they went through just to step foot on this island. No one else seemed bothered by him, so she chalked it up to her anxiety over being so close to finally seeing her best friend again, and possibly having to fight their way out of here once they sprung her._

_She had told the Director, upon reaching the island, that they had come to see one of his “patients”, a young woman who had been Ilyrana's charge until the two became separated. A woman who had always been a little soft in the head, but strong in her magical abilities, and had accidentally gotten herself involved in a confrontation with a deranged mage in Waukeen’s Promenade. Not entirely untrue, though Imoen might take offence to being called mentally disturbed, once she was out of this place, but the old man had smiled kindly at her and offered to give Ilyrana all the time she needed to reassure herself that the woman was being well looked after._

_When she inquired about the other residents, she had learned that Irenicus was being held under heavy guard, with his considerable power held in check by the Cowled Wizards’ restraining magics._

_Good to know. Once they busted Imoen out, Ilyrana had every intention of finding a way to kill him while he was neutered. If it took fighting every one of these damn wizards and flooding this fucking island to do it, then she was more than ready to begin._

After _she had Imoen back._

_“Here we are, my dear. If you would all so kindly wait in here, I will go and see if the young lady has finished with dinner and is ready to receive a visitor. I'm afraid you arrived just as our patients were served their meals, so please help yourselves to some refreshments while I go see if she's done eating.”_

_Keldorn thanked the man, as Ilyrana couldn't bring herself to do so, and he shuffled out, closing the door behind them._

_The waiting room consisted of a long, ornate table, with enough chairs to seat all of them with plenty to spare. A serving tray sat in the middle, with a copper pot of steaming tea, and a selection of pastries._

_Ilyrana began to pace as soon as the door clicked shut. The others began to take seats, helped themselves to the food and drink, and talked quietly amongst themselves._

_“You need to eat something, Rana.”_

_“Oh, you're speaking to me again?”_

_Yoshimo flinched at the anger in her voice, but it didn't stop him from taking her hand and turning her to face him._

_“Forgive me, I… I know I haven't been myself of late-”_

_“Except that you have. Been yourself. Since I've met you, you've run hot and cold with me, with no good excuse, and it's only gotten worse these past few days. I don't appreciate you trying to distance yourself anytime I bring up the future. If you don't want to be with me, just say so. I'm a big girl, I can handle it. If you just want to sleep together with no commitment, that's fine, too. Just stop giving me mixed signals and tell me what you want from me.”_

_She hadn't meant to set into him like that, but this had been some time in coming. She cared for the bounty hunter, more so than she liked to admit, but she was tired of feeling like she'd done something wrong every time he acted like they were impersonal business associates rather than lovers. She was tired of him reassuring her that he cared for her and that he wanted to be at her side, but then turn cold and aloof after sleeping together or even in the middle of a conversation. The ups and downs, coupled with the stress of everything else, was becoming too much._

_“You are right, Rana. I'm sorry for how I've treated you, you don't deserve it. I just… I…” Yoshimo let out an angry sigh and ran a hand through his long black hair. “I wish I had even just a tiny bit of Haer’dalis’s way with words. I'm afraid I'm terrible at this because I've never felt this strongly about another before. I hope that, when time permits, we can talk...about us… and that you'll forgive me…”_

_The sadness in his eyes tugged at her, and she looked away before her anger made her say something she'd regret. Slipping an arm around her waist, he pulled her against him and pressed a kiss to her forehead. His lips lingered longer than usual, and his hand tightened almost painfully on her lower back._

_“Please, at least have some tea, your skin is still cold from outside,” Yoshimo said as he pulled away and poured her a cup._

_Ilyrana grudgingly admitted to herself that he was right about her being cold when the warmth of the porcelain in her hands, and the strong herbal tea, eased some of the tension in her shoulders and sent goosebumps down her arms. As she sipped at it, she watched his dark eyes grow distant and haunted._

_“Yoshi? What's wrong?”_

_“I… lied. There is one other that I… loved. Very deeply. She was… my sister.”_

_The warmth that seeped into her chest at the implication of love was quickly replaced with surprise to hear him actually speak of family. He had always changed the subject when she would ask, so she eventually stopped asking. She understood how complicated something like family could be._

_“You never told me you had a sister…” She hedged when he didn't continue._

_“In some ways, you remind me of her. You're both strong of will, clever, and fierce. Both loyal to those you care for,” a sad smile accompanied the blankness in his eyes. “Loyal to a fault. She's… dead now.”_

_“I'm sorry. Were you very close?”_

_“Once. Yes. She was older than I, and so she looked out for me, though I'm sure I made it difficult for her to do so. After a few years spent honing my tracking skills, I learned that she had left home and hadn't been heard from in some time. I thought that I could look out for her for a change so I began to search for her. When I found her… it was already too late.”_

_Ilyrana's heart ached for him. She reached out a hand to take his, but he pulled away. Taking a step back, his eyes focused on hers and hardened._

_“I tried to save her, but sometimes there are things that can bind us tighter even than family. By trying to set her free, I ensnared myself in the very same web that held her. It's… ironic, now that I think of it.”_

_Glancing at the half-empty cup in her hands, Yoshimo took another step away from her, one hand clenching the handle of his katana hard enough that his leather gloves creaked._

_“Ironic… not just because I came to share the same chains she wore, but also because... my sister and I fell in love with two other siblings.”_

_The room spun. The cup in her hands fell and smashed loudly onto the floor, sending a thousand tiny shards flying in a thousand different directions. Her back was to her companions. She didn't hear them react to the sound. The silence made her realize that she hadn't heard anything from them the past several moments._

_“Her name, Yoshimo,” she was surprised at how steady her voice was. “Tell me her name.”_

_“Unlike her, I could do nothing to change what was coming. She exploited every loophole she could find to save the man she had been sent to prepare for Irenicus. The man she had so foolishly allowed herself to care for. Unlike me, she was successful, I believe. I'm not entirely sure whether she accomplished what she was trying to do, but death, I think… is better than the alternative. You and he are alike in that you both ran headlong for your own ends, heedless of the destruction left in your wake. Of the ones you leave broken behind you.”_

_Reaching back, Ilyrana placed a hand on the table as her legs began to shake from the effort of standing. Leaning against the wood for support, she kept her gaze fixed unblinkingly on the man in front of her. The man she thought she knew._

_“HER NAME! WHAT WAS HER NAME?!”_

_“I want you to know that I'm sorry. I'm a coward. I could have refused… and died. Instead, I followed my orders. Instead, I… selfishly did more than that. I wish I could have found a way, like she did, to keep you from Irenicus. To save you from what's coming.”_

_Turning her head to look behind her, she saw the others all slumped in their chairs, fast asleep from the laced tea. Sinking to her knees, she looked once more at Yoshimo, her vision beginning to blur and darken._

_“Say her name.”_

_“Tamoko. Her name… was Tamoko.”_

 

* * *

 

"When I woke up, I was in Irenicus's new lab. As it turned out, he took over Spellhold and killed the wardens just after he was brought there. The 'Director’ was one of the wizard’s reanimated corpses.”

It was mid-afternoon the following day. They were still tracking the others, drawing slowly closer to the mountains. Ilyrana was hopeful she'd reunite with Imoen soon.

“How much of this do the others know?” Sarevok asked. “I understand they were there, but you said they were already unconscious when Yoshimo revealed all of this to you.”

“They only know what they saw. I never told them what he told me. I…didn't really think it was something they needed to know. After Irenicus pulled mine and Imoen's souls out and placed them inside himself and Bodhi, he ordered Yoshimo to kill me, if he could. Even weakened, Irenicus must have known that Yoshimo wouldn't be strong enough to take me down alone. The others were locked up in cells. Imoen wasn't faring well enough to be of much help. It didn't matter. I wouldn't need it.”

“You had said that you didn't kill him. That the gaes did.”

“Yes. He just stood there, unmoving, fighting the command to attack. First, the pain started. I could see it in his face. I just watched. I… I wanted to see him suffer. It didn't take long before he was on his knees. Begging me to end it for him. I didn't. Maybe if I still had my soul at that point, I would have been capable of feeling mercy. Maybe I would have remembered his earlier apology, and that I had cared for him. I do know that it took him two and a half minutes to die. And all I can remember thinking was that it wasn't long enough.”

Sarevok was quiet for some time. Ilyrana focused on their surroundings in an attempt to ground herself to the now. Remembering Spellhold, and all its horror and grief, made it difficult to distance herself from the memories. Talking about it, saying aloud some of the most painful secrets she had kept buried, made it all the more real. It was easy to pretend it had never happened when you simply stopped thinking about it altogether.

She owed Sarevok the truth, though. Well, perhaps not, but she felt like he deserved it, at least. And, maybe, having told someone the full extent of her time at that place, she could begin to heal. She highly doubted it worked as well as that. As people like Keldorn and Jaheira swore it did.

_Here's to hoping._

“What happened next?”

“His cunt sister, the vampire, thought it would be fun to play cat-and-mouse with us in a labyrinth beneath the asylum. It was there that I first turned into the Slayer. Twice. Both times I had no control over it. How I didn't slaughter any of my people I'll never know. Once we got out, I rallied the other patients and we assaulted Irenicus while he was preparing for his trip to the Underdark. It wasn't enough. He escaped.”

Ilyrana repressed a shudder as she remembered that awful descent into the nightmarish black of the subterranean realm that the drow called home. She had never liked being underground, and the Underdark was so very, very, deep. It was impossible to traverse that realm without constantly thinking about the earth pressing down on you. That it wasn't the night sky miles above you, but the ground. It had felt like walking through a tomb. Like she was exploring her grave. If she never stepped foot there again, it would be too soon.

Shaking her head to dispel those thoughts, she glanced up at Sarevok. His face gave nothing away as to what was going on in his mind. She wondered what he was thinking. If he was just as unsettled as she had been upon learning of Yoshimo and Tamoko's relation. Yet more links in the chain that bound them.

She didn't know what had compelled her to confess that to him last night. She could have just stopped after telling him why she didn't kill Tamoko. Maybe she had still wanted to hurt him, like he had hurt her days ago. When he had seen the dream of her sleepwalking and used it to catapult her shortcomings and insecurities at her. Maybe the weight of so many secrets was finally starting to suffocate her.

Whatever the reason, she had been too exhausted to control her emotions. Too heart sore from having spent hours two days ago burying people she had cared for. People who had died in service to her. Gathering what little of their personal effects she could find. Like Mazzy's sword and helm, and the necklace Edwin never took off. There had been nothing left of Korgan.

The memory of Sarevok holding her while she cried made her uncomfortable, if only because she wasn't able to sort out how she should feel about it yet. The shock of him wrapping his arms around her, of hearing his heart beating beneath her ear, of the feel of his body against hers, brought on too many emotions at once.

If she was being totally honest with herself, which she wasn't ready to be just yet, she could admit that the only thing that felt so wrong about being in his arms was that it had felt so right. When it shouldn't. She shouldn't have felt comforted. Or safe. Or that he was the only one strong enough to hold her together while she had tried so hard to fall apart.

_“Rana, I’m… sorry.”_

He had said it so quietly into her hair that she hadn't been sure she had actually heard it and not imagined it. Only after whispering back that she was, too, did she know for sure that he had. The way his arms had tightened around her, and the kiss he had pressed to the top of her head… No, she still wasn't entirely convinced that it all hadn't been just another dream.

“Abbil, look there,” Viconia said as she came up from rearguard behind them.

Following the drow's pointing finger, Ilyrana looked down from the hill they had just crested and could just make out a thin column of smoke rising into the afternoon sky from the base of the mountains. Squinting, she realized there were, in fact, several.

“Another merc army?”

“Hmm maybe. Hard to tell from this distance. Could be a town.”

“There aren't any towns for miles according to the map that monk gave us.”

“That inn we stayed at a few days ago wasn't on the map either. Could be a deliberate omission, or just shoddy cartography, but at this point I'd rather investigate anything not listed. I trust Balthazar about as much as I trust Melissan.”

“Well, do we make camp and scout it out later, or press on and hope we stumble into the others?” Viconia asked.

“We'll make camp in that grove there just ahead. Sometime before dawn I'll sneak down there and get a look.”

Unanimously, they all agreed it would be safest not to light a fire. Each of them had rations of dried meat, nuts, and fruit, enough for several more days, so they would have that for dinner. Viconia and Sarevok would, at least, but Ilyrana still felt sick at just the smell of food.

What she wanted, what she _needed_ , though it angered her to admit, was alcohol. The desire for it was growing strong enough that she seriously considered upending her Bag of Holding in search of any more forgotten stashes of spirits. If they had decided to make a fire, where she could see clearly enough, she probably would have.

Restlessly, she scaled a tree and settled herself on one of its lower branches. Between withdrawals, the events of the past several days, and the growing tension that came with doing little more than walking for days on end, Ilyrana was fast becoming irritable and her temper unpredictable.

In the back of her mind, the pressure was building strength again. The whispering. It was elusive, at first. If she tried to focus on it, it went quiet. The second she became distracted, it was there in the background. Coloring everything she saw, felt, and did.

For years she had fought against it. Her father's voice, the source of the whispering. With the dawning of each new day, though, her will to push back grew weaker. Slowly, thought by thought, and action by action, she lost ground to the taint.

_Not long now._

The thought rolled through her mind like distant thunder. The knife she had pulled out at some point and begun to twirl, blurred faster through her fingers, cutting the air. Distantly, the thunder shifted to the sound of a heartbeat. Then two. Viconia's and Sarevok's. They sounded wrong.

Why did they sound wrong?

Their rhythmic thumping grew louder. Her knife spun faster between her fingers.

One grew louder still, while the other remained the same.

The wrongness scratched at her, just behind her eyes. Why, though?

Louder. Closer.

Her hand began to ache from the effort of the spinning.

She knew why.

Why it was wrong.

The realization made her feel foolish for not seeing it sooner.

Louder and faster.

It was wrong _because_ _they were beating._

That was _offensive._

They should be silent.

They should be still.

She could stop them. Make them silent. Make them still. That was right. The beating was wrong.

_Wrong wrong wrong wroNG WRONG-_

“ _RANA!”_

The knife was smacked from her hand and sent spinning into the dirt. The shock of the blow made the whispers retreat. Or maybe it was the voice?

“ _Damn it, girl, what are you doing?!”_

The hand that belonged to the voice caught her wrist. Blinking to focus, Ilyrana looked down and saw Sarevok standing beside the limb she sat on, his eyes glowing with anger.

“Let go of me,” she snarled and tried to yank her arm out of his grip.

He snarled back and pulled, half dragging her off the branch, his other hand grasped her waist to control her fall.

Fury tinged her vision with crimson. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she tried to shove him back and twist her arm out of his hand. He must have expected that, because he yanked her closer, and held her arm up in front of her face.

The anger washed away and was replaced with confusion.

Blood coated her hand. It oozed from dozens of gashes in her fingers. Some were deep enough that she could see bone beneath. She hadn't felt the cuts when they happened, but seeing them made them flare to life with pain.

Staring wide eyed in disbelief that she had cut herself that many times, and that badly, without knowing, she almost didn't notice Sarevok swipe his thumb gently across her cheekbone with his other hand. Looking up at him, she saw him wipe blood off on his shirt. It must have flown off the knife as she twirled it, speckling her skin and clothes.

“Viconia!” He shouted as he turned her arm to examine the lacerations.

Ilyrana didn't say anything. There was nothing _to_ say. There was no sane explanation.

Sarevok's half of her soul struck her own, harder than the times he had done before. The sensation made her gasp, and her rage would have come charging back to the fore if she wasn't so off balance.

The glow from his eyes dimmed. As did some of his anger, as understanding lit his face. As he felt the lingering effects of the taint and what it had been doing. Which finally brought her own anger back.

“You have no right to invade my privacy like that,” she hissed.

“Perhaps not, but at least now I know why you mutilated your hand.”

“ _I_  didn't _know I was doing it!”_ She bit out between clenched teeth, lowering her voice as the sound of Viconia's hurried footsteps grew louder.

“I know you didn't. And I know _why_ you didn't know.”

Biting back her response as Viconia appeared,  she settled for glaring at the man.

“By Shar, we leave you alone for five minutes and you do this! How did this happen?”

Releasing her to the cleric, Sarevok stepped to the side and met Ilyrana's glare with a thoughtful look. Ilyrana would have preferred his usual scowl, as the way he studied her made her wary.

“Is someone going to answer me? _How_ did this happen?” Viconia demanded as she looked at the wounds.

“Lost in thought. Cut myself.”

Sarevok raised an eyebrow at her reply, but said nothing.

“That's a weak lie, even for you, abbil.”

Light flared from the drow's palms, and the stinging pain in her hand dwindled to nothing.

“Thank you,” Ilyrana said softly, flexing her fingers to ensure they were all back in working order.

“If I go back to eating, can you manage not to injure yourself before I finish?”

“I'm not a child,” she snapped.

“Then you better not be bleeding again before I'm done with dinner,” Viconia replied, then turned and went back to camp.

Ilyrana glared after the woman, then turned it back on Sarevok, before turning to walk away. Or trying to.

“It's going to come back.”

“It _always_ comes back, what's your point?”

“You need to release some of that pent up aggression, on something _other_ than yourself, or the taint is going to find a way to do it for you again.”

“You think I don't know this? You think I'm not _used_ to this? You should remember what it's like.”

“I do. Which is why I know how to remedy it.”

“You remedy it by killing. I know this already. Are you offering to die so I can get some peace?”

“Not _just_ killing, Rana. Murder is a product of violence. _Violence_ itself can sometimes be enough to sate the taint.”

“Soooo you want me to… what? Kick your ass? Now that you mention it, that does sound very cathartic.”

“I'm offering to let you _try._ ”

Ilyrana blinked at him.

“Meaning what, exactly?”

In answer, Sarevok disappeared in the direction Viconia had. Ilyrana watched him leave, her brow furrowed in irritation and puzzlement.

A moment later, he returned, carrying his sword in one hand.

“Draw your swords, Rana, and let's see if you can best me a second time.”

Ilyrana stared at him, unmoving, caught between an intense desire to obey, and a sudden feeling of foreboding. A remnant of the one other time they had crossed swords.

“Are you sure?” She asked softly.

“I know you've wondered, just as I have, what the outcome of a rematch might be. At least this way, it serves a greater purpose. Come, for old time’s sake, if nothing else.”

For a long moment, Ilyrana didn't move. He was right, she _had_ wondered. He was one of the best fighters she had ever seen. He had been far more powerful than she was when they fought before, and while she was much stronger now than she was then, she knew the odds of winning were stacked against her. Not to mention she had defeated him before solely because of those memories, not because she was his equal or better, and not even because she was lucky.

She held back, a small part of her wondering if he had an ulterior motive for wanting this. It would be easy to claim that killing her was an accident, just a badly timed slip of the blade, during a sparring match. He must have seen her thoughts on her face, or guessed the reason for her hesitation.

“You're going to have to trust me.”

“ _Can_ I trust you?”

“I guess you'll find out.”

“That's not very reassuring.”

“Disarm me or draw blood. If you've the courage. _If you can.”_

Taking a deep breath, she reached up to tighten the leather knot that held her hair up in a tail. Eyes fixed on his, she unsheathed her short swords, and slowly shifted her weight to prepare to strike.

“Good girl,” he crooned, smirking at the flash of annoyance in her eyes, while adjusting his grip on his greatsword.

She didn't ease into the fight. There were no warm up motions to go through that would give her the upper hand. The only thing she had on him was her agility and raw speed, which wouldn't help nearly as much because he wasn't encumbered by armor at the moment. Nor could she rely on the usually effective tactic of wearing a larger opponent out, as his stamina was great enough that he could likely do this long after she succumbed to fatigue. Not even the Slayer could help her, as she hadn't been sleeping and eating enough to regain a modicum of the energy required to live through the transformation.

This was a bad idea, but the dried blood on her hand was a grim reminder of what the taint could do when her stranglehold on it eased for even a moment.

Ilyrana hit him straight on, fast, each of her blades flashing out at both his midsection and the femoral artery. He swept her swords aside, still wielding his weapon one-handed, when most men needed two just to heft it. His other arm shot out, aiming at her throat in an attempt to grab and immobilize her. Lunging back, and just barely avoiding being caught, she struck again, only to have her swords turned away.

Sarevok didn't go on the offensive. Not yet. As they stepped apart and slowly began circling one another, Ilyrana searching for an opening, she suddenly noticed the lengthening shadows and the growing twilight. Not long from now, it would be night. And in the dark, with her Infravision, which he lacked, she would be untouchable.

Circling.

His eyes glowed just as brightly as her own, though not from anger. Nor were the halves of their soul touching.

With a viper's speed, she struck again, one blade aimed high on his chest, the other coming low at his knee. Leaning back, he avoided the first, then smacked the second aside almost casually with his sword.

Circling.

Not long now before it grew too dark for him to see. He must know this, but he still wasn't pressing her.

She knew him. He wasn't going to let her win. Whatever reason he had for holding back, it was _not_ to aid her in any way.

Spinning one blade to build momentum, she slashed upward, and was parried, then brought her other sword up to block the near instantaneous riposte at her torso.

Skipping back to get out of his reach, she noted that her breathing was already laborious, and that he had barely broken a sweat. She was in no condition to be fighting. Even at the peak of health, her chances of winning would be small, and she was far from healthy right now. Still, the hum of bloodlust from the taint was waning, as he said it might.

Sarevok chose that moment to attack. Raising both swords and crossing them, she absorbed the punishing stroke, drawing back and sliding her blades out to reduce the force of impact. She couldn't directly stop his assault, not without risking being disarmed. Not without her hands going numb from the jarring blows.

Sidestepping, he lashed out at her waist, forcing her to hop back. Grasping the hilt with both hands now, he brought his sword down in a devastating downward stroke. Ilyrana again crossed her swords, this time unable to divert the force behind it, and she was instantly forced to one knee, gritting her teeth in an effort to just hold him at bay.

One hand again blurred towards her, the weight he was exerting against her didn't let up a bit, and all she could do was drop her arms and roll to the side to avoid being sliced open or grabbed.

Back on her feet, she danced away to buy her a second to breathe and regain sensation in her arms. Gods, he was just as strong as she remembered.

Hanging back rather than pursuing, Sarevok once again began to patiently circle around her, forcing her to keep moving to remain out of his considerable reach.

Again he struck without warning. Again she dodged him. She retaliated, but was easily pushed back. Darting in, using the dimming light and her speed, she tried to land a single blow, however small, before she had to duck away.

As night began to settle around them, Ilyrana noticed the feel of the fight had changed. No longer did it seem like a test of skill. Or even an outlet for the taint’s driving hunger. Now, it felt like a struggle for dominance. Like there was something to be gained by winning, other than the victory itself. As they closed again, striking with breathtaking speed and carefully controlled power, she watched his eyes take on an almost predatory intensity.

Putting distance between them again, and gasping for air, Ilyrana realized that even with her Infravision, she couldn't beat him. Neither could she hold him off much longer. Her arms, up to her elbows, were completely numb. And he was holding back. The question now was what would happen when she lost?

Lashing out with both swords simultaneously, she swept aside another blow. Then another.

His half of their soul slid against hers, distracting her enough that she almost lost her footing. She got a sudden glimpse into what he was feeling. The rush of combat. The intoxicating knowledge that he was winning. Why his gaze seemed to sear her skin.

Stepping around her and swatting her swords aside, they began circling once again, just out of reach of each other. Ilyrana couldn't break their stare, trapped by the golden light of his eyes. That impression of a deer wandering into the lion’s den flickered through her mind.

He lashed out, forcing her to retreat. His strength, his absolute conviction of just where and how his attacks would fall, his arrogance that he held nearly all the cards, all of it affected her in a way she didn't expect. Giving more ground, now barely able to hold him off, she realized, with a sickening surety, that she had accepted his challenge _knowing_ she would lose, regardless of how well she fought. Because, gods help her, she _wanted_ him to win.

The moment that thought went through her mind, his sword slapped one of hers out of her hand. Taking a step back, then another, she tried to back away from him. He kept advancing, but he didn't strike.

One more backward step. His eyes glowed brighter as he drew closer. One more step… her back hit a tree. Suddenly, his sword fell to the ground, and he lunged at her. Grabbing her wrist, he pried the remaining sword out of her grip and brought it to her throat.

Gasping for breath, Ilyrana tried not to move as the steel lightly touched her skin. Breathing heavily as well, Sarevok tilted the blade, forcing her to lean her head back against the bark, chin up. She looked up at him. He stared down at her, and what she saw in his eyes made her shiver. That small movement was enough that the edge of the sword nicked her skin. She watched his gaze drop to it. Felt a small bead of blood begin to roll lazily down her neck. Saw his eyes begin to follow it. She closed her own.

The blade disappeared. Hands grasped the backs of her thighs and she was lifted, easily, and pressed roughly back into the tree. Her eyes flew open in surprise, only to slide shut again as Sarevok's mouth closed over the blood on her neck.

Gasping as she felt his tongue slide over the cut, she couldn't stop her legs from wrapping around his waist, pulling him against her. A harsh growl escaped his throat, and she felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin just below her ear. His hands slid to her waist, gripping her hard enough to bruise as he tasted her, his lips and teeth marking her fair skin in his lust.

“ _Sarevok…”_

His name, breathed out in a desperate plea, was enough to drive him to the edge of insanity. One hand glided up her side, brushed across her breast and up to the tie in her hair. It tore away like nothing in his hand, and her long thick hair tumbled down across one shoulder. His fingers threaded through it then closed into a fist before he used his hold to pull her head back. Drawing away from her neck, he looked down at her, eyes burning with an almost menacing intensity that would have scared her if she could think straight.

This was wrong. She knew that. Could feel it, but she couldn't make herself tell him to stop. Even knowing that by not stopping him, she was surrendering more of her power, her control, to him.

As if he read her thoughts, her summoning of will to push him away, his lips came crashing down on hers in a demanding kiss. Plying her lips apart with his tongue to twine with her own, he swallowed her moan as his hips rocked against her. She could taste the faint metallic tang of her blood, and for whatever reason it aroused her. She could feel him, hard between her legs, and her hips rolled against him of their own will.

The hand at her waist moved to the ties of her leggings and ripped them open. Her head fell back, and a cry escaped her throat as his hand slid down to the juncture of her thighs.

“ _Fuck, Rana…”_ he rasped as his calloused fingers stroked her, his forehead pressed against hers, not allowing her to look away from him.

Biting her lip, she again felt trapped by his gaze, unable to tear her eyes away from his. With an almost anguished cry, she surrendered completely.

Her moans grew louder, her nails biting into his shoulders, clutching him close to her as she neared her peak. Her back arching, seconds away from release, her cries weren't loud enough to cover the sound of someone clearing their throat from somewhere off to the side.

Both of them turned their heads to see a very amused, and slightly embarrassed, Valygar, standing several feet away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to put a content warning at the beginning of the chapter, but I didn't want to spoil what was about to happen. So, I'll put it here.
> 
> There will be strong sexual content in further chapters, starting with this one. And with this one being the mildest.


	13. Reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines sung later in the chapter are from the song 'In Hell I'll Be In Good Company' by The Dead South. I just happened to be listening to them while writing that scene and thought it fit in a weird kinda way so I wanted to include it.

_Sarevok_

 

The only thing keeping him from tearing out the ranger’s throat and then taking Ilyrana against this tree was the death grip she had on his sword arm. And because she kept whispering “please don't” over and over again.

“Can't say I'm surprised. Uh, that you're both alive, I mean. The others are holed up in a town a mile back. I was scouting the area to make sure we weren't followed by any mercenaries that might have survived. Imoen will be happy to see you, Rana.”

Sarevok felt her stiffen at the mention of her sister, and even though she didn't pull away, he could sense her withdrawing from him. Releasing his hold on her hair, he stepped back, letting her slide down his body to her feet. Which was a mistake on his part, but just because she was ready to get away, didn't mean he was ready to let her go just yet.

Valygar looked at Ilyrana, who was avoiding all eye contact, then met Sarevok's glowing stare and held it. For a brief moment, his lust clouded mind thought the other man was challenging him. As if the ranger could take her from him right now. He noted concern, though, which wasn't surprising, as he and the girl were close.

“I'll, um, be over here,” he finally said. “When you guys are ready for me to, uh, take you to the others,” and with that, Valygar vanished into the shadows.

Ilyrana moved past him without a word, careful to avoid brushing against him, and retrieved her swords. Kneeling down, he picked up his own, then went over to where she was standing nearby, her back to him, deftly braiding her hair over one shoulder.

His shoulders stung from where her nails had broken skin. He could still taste her on his tongue. Her cries, and the way she had whimpered his name, still echoed in his mind.

A part of him didn't care that Valygar had appeared. Let the man watch, it made no difference to him. Another part just wanted to get her out of his fucking system. Maybe after he had sated himself on her body, her pull on him would disappear, and he could feel more like himself again. And another part told him that the ranger's untimely appearance was probably for the best. There was a very good chance that she _wouldn't_ get out of his system, and would be even more ingrained after the fact.

Not to mention, he had been nearly out of his mind with need, and the last thing that should happen was him losing control with her. Aside from the very real possibility of injuring her, there was also her past abuse to consider. The idea of doing something that might trigger a flashback of Irenicus made him sick.

“I'm going to go get Viconia,” she said softly, barely loud enough for him to hear.

When she turned to leave, his arm shot out to stop her. As seemed to always be the case when she was involved, his body acted without his permission. She released a small huff of breath, but didn't look at him.

He was suddenly reminded of the night they talked about the memories. It felt like ages ago. Like it was closer to his brief reign over the Iron Throne, the last days of his life, rather than now. So much had changed. Yet, in some ways, it felt like they were coming full circle. Something that seemed to happen _a lot_ with her.

Slowly, he reached to tilt her chin up to look at him. Her hands clenched when he made contact, and her eyes closed, but she didn't resist. He waited for her to open them. When she did, they flickered a little, the only sign of the turmoil underneath.

“This isn't over,” he said, repeating the words from that night.

That brief glow rippled across her eyes again, reminding him of how they'd looked just moments ago. His thumb glided across her cheekbone, and he felt his pulse quicken as her gaze slid to his lips.

“You do know there's featherbeds likely to be found in that town Valygar's taking us to. I don't understand why you're dawdling around here,” Viconia said as she appeared out of nowhere, and _not_ from the direction of camp.

Ilyrana jerked away from him. He shot a look at the drow, who raised an eyebrow in response, her eyes glittering with equal parts smugness and amusement.

“I know, I know. I was disappointed when he showed up, too. Things were just finally starting to get interesting.”

A strangled sound escaped Ilyrana's throat, the only sign she'd heard the drow, before she turned her back on the both of them and began walking in the direction Valygar had been.

“How long were you spying on us?”

“As soon as I heard the sound of you two fighting. For a moment, I thought you had finally decided that living was no longer entertaining for you, and I was going to have to help Rana put you down again. I have to admit I'm glad I was mistaken. And that you seem to have taken my advice and started trying to win her favor. Though I'll never understand how being beaten into submission could be enticing. Then again, she's very strange.”

“You honestly believe any of that was for _her_ benefit?”

“You aren't _quite_ as dense as other males, so when you say things like that, I can't help but wonder if it's because the blood going to your brain has been completely diverted to elsewhere,” she replied, her eyes drifting down below his waist. “Everything you do should be for her benefit, else why should she allow you the luxury of breathing? Let alone anything else?”

Sarevok grinded his teeth and walked away, deciding not to waste his time in a fruitless dialogue with the drow. Just the sound of her voice scraped against his temper. He wanted her gone. He wanted Valygar gone.

He wanted to finish what he'd started. Even though he hadn't actually intended that to happen. Oh, the fantasy had played out often enough in his head, but his only aim, initially, was the rematch. It wasn't ideal, Rana was in much worse condition than she had been before, but the taint had been too perfect an excuse to pass up.

Sarevok hadn't been lying when he'd said that violence could help curb the craving for slaughter. Nor had he had any intention of hurting her. The sight of her sliced up hand, and the pulsing undercurrent of the taint that he'd briefly felt, had unsettled him. He remembered all too well the times he'd given himself over to those quiet demands, and nearly gotten himself killed in his desire to obey their sire's call. Just as he remembered how alive it had made him feel.

Crossing swords with her again, under very different circumstances this time, had had a similar effect on him. He had expected the fight to trigger the animosity of their previous confrontation. Had somewhat _wanted_ to be reminded of the battle that had destroyed him and everything he had hoped to achieve. The advantages he held this time, however, were far more seductive than the memory of his bitter defeat.

As her parries became sluggish, and her strikes lost their power, he had become drunk on the feeling of beating her. Of reminding himself that the only reason she had bested him the first time was the sudden onslaught of all those memories of their early years together.

This time, he didn't have to worry about that happening again. He could have toyed with her for hours, letting her believe they were evenly matched in order to savor the moment he showed her just how wrong she was. The settling darkness, though, had forced him to end it far sooner than he'd wanted. And when he'd seen her back hit the tree, the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, and her sudden awareness of her own vulnerability, he realized he wanted so much more than just her defeat.

He'd wanted her to yield to him. Wanted to prolong that beastial rush of victory that had washed over him as he looked down at her, her own blade at her throat. He hadn't meant to cut her, but the sight of her blood flowing, however little, had stirred something in him. Maybe it had been an animalistic need to make her submit. Maybe it was merely the high of pitting one’s strength against another. Or maybe it was just that he'd wanted to taste her for so long that he had acted before he could think. Whatever the reason, he hadn't expected it to burn out of his control that quickly. Nor was he prepared for how she had responded to him.

As he began following the hushed voices of Ilyrana and Valygar somewhere up ahead, a plan started to take shape in his mind. All this time he had suspected that she was manipulating him. That she had refused to make him swear a gaes because bending him to her will, making him _want_ to serve her, would be so much more satisfying to her. Now, though, he realized that she was just as lost in all of this as he is. Or was.

He wanted her. _Had_ wanted her. And now he knew that she desired him, as well. Perhaps, if he played his cards right, he could possess more than just her body.

Maybe, Ilyrana being the one the Prophecy spoke of wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.

Maybe, _just maybe_ , he could convince her of that as well.

If he couldn't become a god, then the next best thing was to have one's favor.

If he couldn't become a god, then he would become one's right hand.

* * *

 

_Ilyrana_

 

“I'm glad you're okay.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, Rana. Look, I'm sorry about snapping at you when you wouldn't let me retrieve Mazzy's… body. I understand. I understood _then_ , too. I just…”

“I know,” Rana said quietly. “It hurt me, too, to leave her. And Edwin. And, gods, Korgan. I should have known about that barrier. I've seen it a hundred times before, have coordinated those who would have been hindered by it in a hundred different battles. I don't know how I didn't notice it right away.”

“Probably because we were surrounded by an army. And you had just watched people you were close to die. And… you've never had to consider a Protection from Evil spell a death trap before.”

Ilyrana looked away and lengthened her stride, her eyes glinting red from Infravision as she swept her gaze around, searching for any potential dangers. Valygar kept pace with her, his own eyes flashing red in the moonlight from the ring he wore that granted him the same night sight.

“I'm sorry. Again. I was just as surprised as you were about the spell. Rana, you're a lot of things, and I won't pretend that all of those things are good, but you're not evil. I don't give a damn what the gods say. Or some damn spell.”

“You were surprised. I was surprised. Imoen was surprised. But not the others. I saw the looks on Keldorn's and Jaheira’s faces. They were upset, but not surprised. Anomen is delusional so he doesn't count. Even Sarevok knew that spell would kill me.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued as her voice faded. Whether it was because of her admission that she might be evil, or because mentioning Sarevok reminded them both of what had just happened, Rana didn't know.

“Do you think maybe the spell only detected the taint and went off that? It's growing stronger right? Maybe being a bhaalspawn, and one of the last ones left I would assume, is what triggered it.”

“Maybe,” she replied in a tone laced with doubt. “I've done enough introspecting lately, so I don't really feel like dwelling on the possibility that I've turned into everything I've fought against. How are the others? How's my sister?”

“Keldorn and Jaheira have been trying to work together to get a game plan going, but it's been difficult. There's… there's something wrong with the town. More on that later. Anomen has been making progress on his apparent mission to become a raging drunkard like his father. Haer’Dalis has been banished to his room for almost getting us all kicked out of the inn we're staying at because he wouldn't stop singing depressing ballads in the dining hall and driving away customers. That place is gloomy enough, those poor people don't need a Doomguard adding to it. Not to mention the fact that we’ve all been grieving and his songs are a constant reminder of just what was lost.”

His voice had roughened towards the end of that sentence, and he stared straight ahead to avoid looking at her. She had been more concerned about her sister, and how she was handling Ilyrana's assumed death, as well as how her companions were adjusting to the change in leadership, that the notion of being missed and mourned by Valygar, as well as the others, had completely been absent from her mind.

She didn't usually initiate physical contact, for a myriad of reasons. So, when she slipped her hand into Valygar's larger gloved one, she learned that he must know of at least some of those reasons, because he was shocked enough to look down at her, then at their hands. She expected him to pull away. Instead, he surprised her by squeezing, and gifting her with one of his rare smiles.

“I'll probably never know why you can't seem to understand why we follow you. That it's _you_ we fight for and not your cause.”

“Of course I understand. You're all nuts. That's the only explanation.”

Valygar laughed and reluctantly let her hand go when she drew it back.

“I won't argue that. Though, the clergy _is_ supposed to be a reflection of it's priestess, ergo…”

“Hey, most of you have been with me for years now. You don't get to complain about my circus while you're all still performing in it so well.”

“No one's complaining. You pay us too much to do that.”

“Right, it's the gold keeping you around.”

“See? You _do_ know why we stay. You just don't like to acknowledge how loved you are.”

“Bat shit, the lot of you. Now, tell me about Imoen.”

“She… has her moments. She's been trying to help Keldorn and Jaheira with the planning, but her heart's not in it. I kind of expected her to turn to the bard, but she's been avoiding him and not answering the door when he tries to talk to her. She's strong, but neither of you hold up well in regards to the other.”

Ilyrana remembered when Imoen had been taken from her by the Cowled Wizards. And when she had finally reunited with her in Spellhold, only to discover her soul had been stolen just like her own. It wasn't pretty. A lot of the blood that stained her soul had been spilled during that time. She would have drowned Faerun in it if that's what would have been required to save and heal her sister.

Not much had changed, she realized. Maybe that's why the spell had deemed her evil. She was all too willing to slaughter anyone who posed a threat to Imoen. Weren't noble and righteous people supposed to sacrifice what they loved for the “greater good”? What _was_ the greater good? The world? What had the world ever done for her? Ilyrana had paid her dues, reaped the consequences of her birthright, and been broken so many times that each time she mended herself back together, there were more and more pieces missing.

“How long have you been in the town? And what's wrong with it?”

“Day and a half. It's an old mining town, built right up against the mountain with the river practically running through the middle of it. It grew really fast when they discovered veins of gold in the nearby iron mine. Along with a motherlode of precious and semi-precious gems. As is usually the case with these places, once the mine started running dry, people left in droves, leaving it almost a ghost town. Eventually, it became a hub of criminal activity, smugglers mostly, but it helped put the place back on the map in terms of trade, which in turn brought people back. Now, it's still being used as a waypoint for stolen and poached goods, but it's also slowly beginning to thrive from people farming the land again.”

“Okay, so what's wrong with it?”

“It took some digging, I needed something to keep busy with. The feel of the place is off, there's too much fear and not enough reasons for it. Any that I  could see anyway. The locals believe their town is cursed. The people travelling through it try not to stay any longer than necessary, though they can't give a reasonable answer as to why. From what I could gather, the town got mixed up with some religious fanatics some years back. Bunch of children went missing. Over the years that hasn't changed, and it's only gotten worse as Tor Niedrig’s population grows. People are para-”

“Tor Niedrig?”

“Yeah, that's the town's name. We haven't had any problems yet, but there's a lot of mercenary activity. Small groups, much like ours, but still. A few of them have tried to find the most recent missing children, but they're not turning up anything. I was thinking it could be Sendai or Abazigal’s people doing it. Their strongholds are supposed to be somewhere along this side of the mountains, if that map is accurate. Which I have my doubts about since Tor Niedrig isn't on it.”

Ilyrana made a noncommittal sound in reply, having not been paying too much attention. For some reason, that name sounded familiar. Tor Niedrig. It scratched in the recesses of her mind. Had she read the name in Candlekeep? Or overheard it when they were in Saradush? Tor Niedrig.

“Rana?”

“Huh? Sorry. Lost in thought.”

“I'll bet,” Valygar replied, something in his tone made her glance sharply up at him, just in time to catch an amused smile.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh nothing.”

“You're a shit liar.”

“I'm not sure you want to talk about it.”

“Oh. You mean what happened. With Sarevok.”

“You know I don't like to pry-”

“Another lie.”

“Alright, alright. Look, when I first saw the two of you, I… well, thankfully I was in total shock just to see you alive, that it gave me enough time to realize what was happening was… well, consensual.”

Ilyrana dropped her hand to the knife that was no longer in it's usual place in her right boot. Because it was still back on the ground where Sarevok had smacked it out of her hand while she was unknowingly filleting herself. Fumbling around for her spare, she eventually extricated it out of the laces of her left boot and began spinning it. Which Valygar took note of.

“I was following the sound of combat, expecting to find bandits fighting over loot or something, then it went quiet. I didn't mean to, uh, interrupt, but I _did_ want to make sure that you were okay. Next time, I'll remember to leave you be. I promise.”

“There's not going to be a next time.”

“Poor Sarevok.”

Ilyrana elbowed Valygar in the ribs.

“Ow! I was kidding. Kind of. Why won't there be a next time?”

“Seriously?! You can't think of a single reason why that's a bad idea?”

“No, I can't.”

Ilyrana looked at the man like he'd just told her he was thinking about moving to the city to study necromancy.

“For starters, he's my half-brother.”

“In name only. You're both half god, the rules of us regular mortals don't apply to the two of you.”

“Second, we used to be enemies.”

“But you're not anymore.”

“Third, I _killed_ him!”

“He didn't look all that bothered by that fact just a little while ago. Next excuse?”

“I'm not entirely sure I can trust him!”

“You obviously trust him enough to be intimate with him.”

“Valygar, that just sort of happened. I didn't plan for it.”

“So, it 'just sort of happened’ and your first instinct was to go with it, right?”

“How in the name of Hell can you be so blasé about this?!”

 _“_ I don't know. Maybe I wouldn't be if I'd been there in the beginning. When you two were tearing up the Sword Coast trying to kill each other. It's interesting though that you haven't mentioned Gorion at all.”

Ilyrana fell silent. She didn't list Gorion as a reason because, after the return of her memories, she had become ambivalent about his death. Yes, she had loved him. She had once loved Sarevok, too. Yes, he had taken care of her. Then again, so had Sarevok until they were separated.

To her, it was easier to forgive Sarevok for murdering Gorion because, knowing everything she knew now, she couldn't fault him for his reasons; but it was far less forgivable that her foster father had attacked a child, erased his memories, then left him for dead. Maybe she was wrong, but a lifetime of good didn't excuse what Gorion had done to them.

“I have my reasons for not mentioning him,” Ilyrana whispered.

That was as far as she was willing to go right now in regards to talking about the past. Valygar studied her for a moment before picking the conversation back up. She was grateful he didn't press her.

“Jaheira likes to regale me with Sarevok's past exploits in Baldur's Gate, in hopes of making me hate him like she does, I guess.”

“Which is _another_ reason I should stay away from him.”

“Because of what Jaheira will say?”

“What _everyone_ will say! And, why are you so okay with him? I know you weren't there before, but he's not exactly the warm and inviting type.”

“First, who cares what everyone will say? You're a grown woman, and if they can accept that he's part of the group, then they can accept the two of you being together. Second, I'm okay with him because he hasn't done anything to make me _not_ okay with him. Yes, I understand what he tried to do in order to become a god. He hurt a lot of people. Not least of whom was you. But then you killed him. You got your revenge. You saved the people. And he languished in Hell for a few years. He paid for what he did. When you agreed to bring him back, you gave him a clean slate. Knowingly or not. And no, he's not the friendliest of companions, but he doesn't sing bawdy songs at the crack of dawn like the bard. Nor does he force me to listen to his exaggerated tales of heroism like Anomen. And I don't have to worry about him accidentally hitting me with some foul piece of magic, either. Thus far, he hasn't given me a single reason to dislike or distrust him.”

“The people of Baldur's Gate adored him, too. Except the Grand Dukes, because they could already see what he was. He had the rest completely fooled up until the very end.”

“I don't _adore_ him. Rana, the sexual tension between the two of you has been making the rest of us itchy. Most of the others pretend not to notice it, but it's there. If you decide to explore the attraction, I will support you. If you don't, I will support you. But don't make a decision based on what the others will think or say. They'll get over it or leave.”

“And _if_ they leave? We're already down a mage and two frontline fighters, Valygar. I'm going to have to send word to some of my former companions and hope they can, or will, come join us. Not to mention, once we do get some help, we're going to have to adjust to new people. And not just in battle.”

“You've already been considering people.”

“Yes. I'm not a big fan of her, but Nalia could fill the empty magic user space. Or Aerie, but Haer’Dalis was really smitten with her during her brief time in our company, so Imoen might not be too thrilled about that. The last thing we need is a damn love triangle on top of everything else.”

“No arguments there. Imoen is a grown woman, too, though, Rana. If Aerie will be a good fit otherwise, you might have to overlook your sister's feelings. What about Cernd? Or Rasaad?”

“I think Cernd would work, if he can leave his duties at the Grove. I don't know about Rasaad. You remember what happened right before he left. With Viconia. Two servants of opposing gods in limited space is never a good idea.”

“Viconia is _also_ a grown woman who-”

“Who refuses to listen to that Calimite whine about his stupid dead brother,” Viconia bit out from behind them. “And his obsession with Algorithm-"

“Alorgoth.”

“Whatever. If he shows up, Ilyrana, I _will_ leave. And I'll leave corpses in my wake, Shar help me.”

“See?” Ilyrana said as she glanced behind her to see the drow and Sarevok coming up behind them.

“Alright, fine. No Rasaad. What about Jan?”

“ _No,”_ Ilyrana and Viconia emphatically exclaimed together.

Valygar chuckled in response.

“I don't know why you don't like him. I mean, I got a little sick of eating turnips, I'll admit, but his stories more than made up for that.”

“If I even smell a turnip again…”

“His stories were outrageous, often made no sense, and he had the hygiene of a gnoll. He's another one I outright refuse to be around.”

“Who's Jan?” Sarevok asked.

“He was a gnome-”

“It's a 'no’ from me then, as well.”

“What's wrong with gnomes?” Valygar asked.

“I won't be blamed for stepping on and killing him by accident.”

“And if you do it on purpose?”

“If he's half as irritating as they claim he is, I can't be blamed for that either.”

Ilyrana pursed her lips to keep from laughing. Valygar grinned but said nothing as he led them out onto a tree-lined path. Deep furrows in the ground spoke of heavy wagon traffic. As well as horses.

“You said there were mercenary companies?”

“Aye. About a half dozen that I could tell. There's only two inns, and I'm afraid we got stuck at the shadier one, so I've tried to turn up as much as I can about them all. Two are just passing through the area and aren't actively seeking a contract. One was employed with Yaga-Shura and are making their way back home with empty pockets. Two others are looking for work and are the ones who've been out looking for those kids. The last one is a mean bunch. I haven't been able to find out anything about them, except that their leader’s name is Captain Erelon, and he hails himself as the finest archer this side of the realm.”

“Oh?” Ilyrana asked, a small smirk on her lips at the thought of that foolish man bragging about his bow skills.

“I thought that would interest you.”

“What's his bow look like?”

“Expensive.”

“Color of the wood? Type of bowstring? Did he have a quiver, or is it enchanted with it's own arrows?”

“Rana, I wasn't paying that close attention.”

“You learned pretty much everything else about the damn place and it's people, but you can't even tell me what kind of wood it's made from?”

“Not anywhere close to everything. And you can look for yourself once we get there.”

Ilyrana huffed and fell silent. As they walked around a bend in the road, the trees disappeared and she could see the lights of Tor Niedrig up ahead. Farmsteads dotted the countryside, surrounded by nearly empty fields. Everything would have just recently been harvested in preparation for the coming winter. The town itself, from what she could see, sprawled around the base of one of the smaller mountains, with more lights shining towards it's center. As they drew nearer, she could tell that the original quality of the homes was very high, if a little aged now, with finely wrought iron fences surrounding neat lawns. Worn cobbled streets had already been swept clean for the night, with blazing fires burning in lamp posts that sat at intervals down the roads leading toward the square. It was a beautiful place. Whatever was wrong with it, Ilyrana couldn't tell just yet.

Fumbling in her bag for her cloak, and getting a few more injuries for her trouble, she eventually pulled out the dark fabric and swept it over herself. Securing the ties that would hold it closed around her body, and pulling up her hood, she hoped there would be no watchmen on guard that would force her to reveal herself.

“I guess now would be a good time to mention that the mercenary army that attacked us was after a bounty on my head. Or swords, rather. Abazigal’s brat might have been leading them, but they weren't working directly for him. I assumed they belonged to his father, but since he was acting outside of his dad's knowledge, I think they were hired by someone else.”

“How much was the bounty?”

“Not sure. Why? Thinking of turning me in?”

“I would never,” Valygar replied.

“One hundred and fifty thousand gold pieces,” Viconia quipped. “I found the notice on one of their corpses.”

“Okay, I might think about turning you in.”

“Wow, really? One hundred and fifty thousand? My highest yet. They wanted my swords as proof. I'd be willing to go sixty-forty if someone wants to track down the one who posted it and bring them my swords.”

“Sixty-forty, abbil? Why not fifty-fifty?”

“Because I'm the one sacrificing my swords.”

“Seems fair,” Valygar said thoughtfully. “Ya know, it would be a good way to find out who hired them.”

“And to get one hundred and fifty thousand gold.”

“Rana, I know for a fact you have more than that stashed away.”

“So? How much gold is too much? I mean really?”

“You don't even spend what you already have. Oh, the inn is up ahead.”

Valygar moved in front of them and began heading toward a large, ugly building that looked more like a warehouse or barn than an inn.

“The Last Stop,” Ilyrana read from the broken signpost just outside the entrance. “Okay, that's a creepy name.”

“It sounds like Haer’Dalis has been let out on good behavior,” Valygar chuckled as he opened the creaky front door and the sounds of the inn washed over them.

_“I see my red head, messed bed, tear shed, Queen Bee, my squeeze_

_The stage it smells, tells, Hell's bells, miss-spells_

_Knocks me on my knees_

_It didn't hurt, flirt, blood squirt, stuffed shirt_  
_Hang me on a tree_ _  
_ After I count down, three rounds, in Hell I'll be in good company”

The first thing Ilyrana saw was the tiefling sitting on a rickety stool atop a low stage, lute in hand, singing the chorus to some morbid song. Playing to a nearly non-existent crowd. Across from him was the bar, where a skinny older woman with an annoyed expression stood drumming her fingers and glaring daggers at Haer’Dalis. All of the tables were empty except for one.

Ilyrana's heart stopped when she saw the pinkish red hair of her sister, sitting with her back to the door. Keldorn, who was sitting opposite the girl, saw her first.

She gave a small, tired smile to the old paladin. He returned it with a deep bow of his grey head, and a smile that made her own grow wider. His bright blue eyes glistened enough for her to see even from across the room. He said a word to Imoen, and she turned around.

Time seemed to stop as the two sisters locked eyes. Ilyrana vaguely noted that Haer’Dalis had stopped playing mid-song, and the barkeep had turned her sour look onto the newcomers. Those were the last of her impressions before she was bounding across the room, eager to reassure herself that Imoen was alright.

Imoen let out a cry and met her nearly halfway, practically tackling the smaller woman into a nearby table.

_“Oh my god, Rana! I thought you were dead. Oh my god…How?!”_

“Shhhhh. It takes a lot more than an army to kill me.” Ilyrana murmured into her hair, noting that it was unwashed and that Imoen smelled vaguely of cheap wine.

Pulling away to look at her sister, Ilyrana brushed the tangled bangs back with her fingers and wiped the tears off the girl's face.

 _“_ How, Rana? We saw how many of them there actually were when we were fleeing. There's no way you could have survived that. Unless… oh gods, Rana, no.”

Ilyrana watched realization, followed swiftly by denial, light Imoen's face.

 _“_ It was the only way, love. It was the Slayer or death. I chose. And I get to be here now because of it.”

If at all possible, Ilyrana was going to avoid telling any of the others the details of what had happened during that fight. And after. Viconia had picked up fairly early on the implications of Ilyrana sharing her soul with Sarevok. Keldorn had as well. She wanted to keep it that way.

_More secrets, Rana?_

“I wish you hadn't had to let that thing out, but I'm glad you're alright. I just… I didn't know what to do. With you gone. I'm… well, nevermind. How are you feeling? You look starved and the bags under your eyes make you look like a vampire.”

 _“_ Thanks,” Ilyrana drawled. “I'm fine.”

 _“_ Liar. Come on, I'll let everyone else have a turn making you uncomfortable, then I'll go draw you a bath and force some food down you. You can bunk with me tonight, as I don't think there are any rooms left.”

“That won't be necessary-”

Haer’Dalis engulfed her in a tight hug, enveloping her in his unnaturally warm body heat and the faint smell of sulfur that seemed to hang around him. Effects of his demonic half, she assumed.

“My heart soars to see you alive, my raven. I've always wanted to write your story down, to immortalize the things I've seen while flying with you, but I must confess I wasn't prepared for the task once it was set upon me.”

Ilyrana awkwardly patted his back and wriggled out of his grip, grateful he wasn't much bigger than she was or she would have had to resort to biting.

“You don't have to write my story, HD. Honestly. Please don't.”

“Don't let him fool you, child,” Keldorn said. “He may have found it difficult to do so, but our bard was making good progress in turning your life into song. I wouldn't think that, as mad as it is, it would need much, if any, embellishing, but he's proven himself more than up to that task.”

The paladin embraced her before she could duck away, but he made it mercifully brief.

“Can we be done with all the touching now,” Ilyrana mumbled as she straightened her hood and tried to hide how overwhelming this reunion was turning out to be.

“Godchild…”

Ilyrana turned to the staircase that led to the second floor in time to see Jaheira finish descending them. Thankfully, Jaheira respected other people's personal space, so that when the older woman reached out to grip her forearm in greeting, she didn't have to worry about her pulling her into a hug.

“How is this possible? Did that barrier fall before you were overwhelmed? And I see Viconia made it as well,” Jaheira said, purposefully omitting Sarevok's presence, as she often did.

“Not exactly. It's good to see you, Jaheira, but I'm really not up to telling the story right now. We made it out alive. That's all that matters right now.”

The druid narrowed her almond-shaped eyes at her for a moment, studying her with an intensity that instantly made her uneasy. Almost as if another Protection from Evil spell had suddenly sprung up between them, making her want to recoil before she was burned. She was immediately relieved she had braided her hair over the side of her neck that bore the evidence of her lapse in judgement with Sarevok.

“As you would have it. There will be plenty of time for talk in the morning.”

_Joy._

“Where's Anomen?” Valygar asked, which made her want to elbow him again. He knew damn well she didn't want to see the man.

“In his room,” Keldorn replied grimly, his tone laced with disapproval. “In one form of unconsciousness or another, I'm sure. It'll do him a world of good to know you're alive, Rana.”

“I'd hate to wake him up at this hour-”

“I'm sure he wouldn't mind,” Valygar interrupted.

Ilyrana's elbow tingled with anticipation.

“He can wait,” Imoen butted in. “Come on, sis, let's go get you cleaned up. You're starting to get that kobold smell again.”

Following her sister up the stairs, she felt the cumulative effects of exhaustion, hunger, and lack of alcohol begin to make their presence known. Knowing there was a hot bath in the very near future, coupled with some form of food, wine, and a bed, she could almost feel relieved to be back, not just among her friends, but in civilization, as well.

Almost.

Maybe it was the wrongness that Valygar had spoken of that she was beginning to notice.

Maybe it was the feeling of several pairs of eyes on her back as she disappeared up the steps, each set watching her for very different reasons.

Maybe it was the lies, half truths, and other verbal evasive maneuvers that she was already preparing to employ.

Or maybe it was the knowledge that, despite being reunited with her companions, her time with them, and her respective relationship with each one, was going to be different than before.

So much had changed in so little time. None of them knew the full extent of what had transpired. Between her and Sarevok or within herself. The threads she had spun were beginning to come together. To create a whole. A web used to deceive the ones she led so they wouldn't have to look at the monster waiting beneath. She used to fool herself into thinking that monster was the Slayer. And her father. And the taint. She wasn't wrong exactly, she just wasn't wholly correct. Each was a subtly different head of the hydra, but they were all connected. All one being.

 _She_ was that one being.

As Imoen began leading her down a hall towards her room, chattering away about things Ilyrana's mind couldn't comprehend in its present state, she hesitated at the banister overlooking the dining room floor. Looking down, she could see Valygar trying to engage Jaheira in conversation, only to be given a monosyllabic reply and the cold shoulder. Haer’Dalis was at the bar, humming to himself as he waited for the old woman to fill his tankard from a nearby keg. Viconia was beside him, impatiently waiting to be served. Keldorn appeared to be in deep conversation with Sarevok.

As her eyes fell upon the Deathbringer, he immediately turned his head and looked up at her. His half of their soul reached out toward hers, stopping just shy of contact. When she went to turn away, lest she become trapped by the intensity of his stare again, he struck. Wrapping his half around hers, she was momentarily frozen in place from the shock of it.

She could hear Keldorn's voice, more discernible than she should be able to from this distance, but still quiet enough that she couldn't make out his words.

She could feel the cuts she had made in Sarevok's shoulders with her nails.

She could see herself in his mind, as she had looked while he pressed her against the tree, her glowing eyes glazed with desire.

She could smell the faint scent of jasmine, and orchids, that her skin and hair naturally smelled like.

She could taste the blood and sweat on his tongue as he had sucked at the cut on her neck.

_Tell me to let you go and I will._

His voice echoed softly in her head, like muted thunder. Trembling from what he was showing her through the connection, Ilyrana tried to form the words inside her mind.

_Let-_

Another image swam into view, blurring her focus. This time, it wasn't a memory.

In the scene, instead of kissing her as he had done after taking her hair down, he pulled away, dropping her to her feet, only to turn her and press her front into the tree. Gripping her hair in one hand, he pulled her head to the side to continue biting and sucking at her neck. His other slipped beneath her shirt, his fingers a gentle counterpoint on her ribs and stomach to the harshness of his lips and teeth.

_Please…_

_Please what? Say the words, little one._

Before she could even form a thought, much less a sentence, he progressed the story he was unfolding in their minds.

His thumb glided across the bottom swell of her breast. His mouth trailed down to the exposed skin of her shoulder, further marking her skin. Marking her as his own. The grip on her hair tightened as she pressed back against him.

_Rana…_

She didn't want to want him. She didn't want to enjoy what he was showing her. Three short words and she would be free. Such a simple thing, yet her will evaded her.

Any moment the others would take notice. Imoen would see that Ilyrana had stopped following her. Keldorn would wonder why Sarevok wasn't replying to him. Jaheira would look up and see her softly illuminated eyes locked onto her former enemy below.

_Say it!_

His voice sounded strained. It was a double edged sword, she realized. This game he was playing, it affected him just as strongly as it did her. For a heartbeat, she considered letting him continue, to see how far he would take this. Sanity overruled that idea, however. She had to stop this now.

He spun her back around and kissed her, his hand cupping the back of her head to deepen the kiss. She could feel the desperation in his touch and through their soul.

_Damnit, Sarevok!_

_The things I'm going to do to you, girl. Stop me now or I'll show you. And it WON'T be inside your head._

That, along with the sudden sound of her name being called by her sister, was sobering enough to fortify her strength.

_Let me go._

She felt a flicker of frustration, and strangely, relief as well, from his end.

_I'm not done with you, Rana._

His presence disappeared. Leaving her alone again inside her head. She would think about why that made her feel suddenly lonely much later, and with lots and lots of alcohol.

“You _must_ be tired if you're spacing this hard,” Imoen chuckled as she waved her hand in front of Ilyrana's eyes, causing her to jerk back and blink rapidly a few times to refocus.

“Yeah, I'm sorry. I thought I was holding up better than this.”

Ilyrana gave her sister what she hoped would pass for a sheepish look before turning to follow her once again.

“S'okay. I'm just glad it's not the taint acting funny on you again… it's not is it?”

“No, it's not the taint. It's just been a really, _really,_ long couple of days.”

“You can tell me all about it while I wash your hair.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled up out of Ilyrana's throat.

“Geez, are ya sure you're okay?”

“No,” Ilyrana replied. “I'm not sure of that at all.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The town of Tor Niedrig is completely of my own invention and will serve as a sort of base of operations for Rana and her group.


	14. Her Father's Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written way faster than normal, especially considering it's about the same length as the previous one. Dunno how I managed to do that, but enjoy! Maybe I can have the next one quickly as well.

_Ilyrana_  

Ilyrana shut the door to the bathroom, leaned back against it, closed her eyes, and tried not to scream.

She was dead on her feet. Imoen had wanted to draw her a bath, help her bathe, and chat. Which would have been fine, if not for the fact that it would have been impossible to hide the burn scars on her thighs, as well as the marks on one side of her neck from Sarevok. She didn't know which would have been harder to explain.

In order to try and redirect her sister, Ilyrana had insisted on eating first. A good plan, except that she had to actually eat in order for that diversion to work. Imoen had called down to the kitchens and had a tray of cold cuts, bread, and cheese sent up. Along with several bottles of Berduskan Dark, a heavy, sweet wine with a deceptively high alcohol content. It had put Ilyrana out nearly forty gold to buy the expensive stuff, which was blatant robbery, but it was one of the strongest drinks they had that Ilyrana felt she could stomach with food. And she was desperate enough to hope that the wine would knock her sister out before they were done eating.

It had worked… sort of. As Ilyrana had nibbled on a flaky croissant filled with thin slices of roast beef and a soft white cheese, she unmercifully plied Imoen with drink. Dodging questions and asking about their trek to this place, if there had been any developments with Haer'Dalis (there hadn't), and the town, despite already having got the information from Valygar.

It hadn't been difficult to get her inebriated, as the girl had already been drinking prior to Ilyrana's arrival. No, the snag in her plan had been when Imoen had suddenly burst into drunken tears and thrown herself on the bed, sobbing and trying to explain how happy she was that Rana was alright despite the fact she was crying. Ilyrana had laid with her, brushing her hair back out of her face, trying to decipher the slurred words through the hiccups. She had felt bad for what she was doing, but not enough to do anything differently. She'd just have to make it up to her sister later.

Eventually, the snoring began. Ilyrana had sighed with relief, and rolled onto her back to savor the small victory, only to realize her arm was pinned beneath an unconscious Imoen. After extricating it, and accidentally hurtling herself into a nightstand from the exertion, adding yet another bruise to her already battered body, Ilyrana had downed the remainder of the wine, forced as much food down her throat as she could tolerate, and stumbled into the bathroom.

Alone at last.

Throwing a discarded towel over the vanity mirror above the sink, and then fumbling at the tap on the tub, she began filling it with water as hot as it would go, praying the shoddy inn at least had decent plumbing. As she waited, she began peeling off her clothes and tossing them into a nearby wicker basket. Digging through her bag, she pulled out her chest of soaps, the coarsest piece of cloth she could find for scrubbing, and every article of clothing she brushed against. Tossing the latter into the basket until it was overflowing, she wrapped a scratchy towel around herself and went to put her laundry outside the door for the innkeeper to wash, checking to make sure her sister was still sound asleep on the way.

The water was scalding, just as hot, if not more so, than the hot springs. Resting the back of her head against the rim of the porcelain, she felt her muscles begin to relax for the first time in what felt like years. Goosebumps rippled across her skin, making her shiver and sink a little lower into the water, until it came up to her chin, the tops of her knees just barely breaching the surface.

She floated in and out of consciousness, buoyed by the languid feeling brought on by a full stomach and copious amounts of strong wine.

Scenes from earlier that night played out in her head. Images of what had happened, and what Sarevok had manipulated in her mind, blurred together until she wasn't entirely sure what was real. In her present state, however, reality meant very little to her, so it wasn't hard to become lost in her meanderings, drifting between memories, dreams, ideas, what _ifs_ , and what _could_ bes.

It was only when her nose slipped beneath the water that she woke, sputtering and shivering in the now cold bath. Getting up to peak outside the bathroom door, Ilyrana could see through a far window that it was still night, and her sister still slept, now on her back with one arm thrown across her face.

Deciding that, even though the bathwater was murky from just the long soak, she wanted to be scrubbed clean. Pulling the plug to let it drain, she grabbed the towel again and went to look and see if her clothes had been washed.

They had!

Snatching up the basket, she froze when Anomen suddenly stepped out of a room just down the hall. His back was to her, and he swayed a little as he struggled to get his key into the hole to lock his door behind him. Deciding it was best not to have the drunken man learn of her return from the dead by seeing her fetching her laundry in nothing but a bath towel, she quickly ducked back inside and tiptoed a retreat to the bathroom. Twisting the handle to release the steaming hot water again, she began filling the tub up a second time.

For some reason, she felt like a child again back at Candlekeep, sneaking around the massive library and labyrinthine corridors in order to find naughty books, unattended baked goods, and the occasional copper penny or two. Even though she was an adult now, in a rented room, about to take her second well-deserved bath of the night, while trying to evade the besotted knight in shining armor.

She felt a little cheated that none of those bodice-ripping romance novels she'd read warned her about this kind of situation. Or about the dangers of becoming involved with one's evil half-brother. Then again, those books probably assumed their readers were smart enough to figure that one out on their own without even resorting to trial-and-error.

Creeping yet again into the bedroom, she snagged the half-full glass of red that had been Imoen's before she passed out, cursing herself for not having the presence of mind to buy more of that wine earlier.

Settling herself back in the tub after locking the door, just to be safe, she began lathering her hair, alternating between picking out detritus and untangling the elaborate knots that had formed in it. After ducking her head underwater to wash the cleansing oils out, she loosely pinned the mass up in a bun and began abrading her skin with the washcloth.

She couldn't help herself from thinking about the feel of Sarevok's hands on her skin and in her hair. Not just after their sparring match, but what he had shown her through their soul. Ilyrana hadn't had a clue it could work that way. Or that elaborately, anyway. Her hands slowed in their ministrations as she remembered how strongly he had reacted to her physically.

Before Irenicus, she had been just as meticulous about her appearance as most other young women were. She'd style her hair if they would be staying in a town for longer than a day. She'd kept a hand mirror to ensure her face remained blood and grime free during her travels. Acquiring a new scar was lamented, because it was an imperfection. She'd even worn makeup on more than one occasion.

 _After_ Irenicus, Ilyrana never willingly looked into a mirror for longer than a few seconds. The small clay pots that held her makeup had been stealthily integrated into Imoen's collection. Her fingers were the only comb her hair knew, except on the rare occasion an actual comb had to be used in order to pick out shards of bone from her scalp after a particularly brutal battle. New scars meant nothing. Her nicer clothes were ones she'd stolen from her sister to wear when she had nothing clean. Some of her shirts had once belonged to Valygar, or Keldorn, before she’d filched them because they were big, comfy, and smelled good. The rest were tops almost threadbare from travelling, ripped leggings, and very worn-in leather boots of varying styles.

She hadn't owned a dress in years, and the last one she'd worn had been a ceremonial gown for a celebration in Suldanessellar. Where Ilyrana had not given a single fuck what she had looked like during that feast in her honor. All she'd cared about was consuming as much Evermead as she could get her hands on in order to drown out the still-fresh memories of being in Hell with Irenicus. That was the night she'd nearly attacked Queen Elliseme.

Ilyrana could still vividly remember the woman's apology for the misery her decision to exile Irenicus had inflicted upon her. Could still remember her vision going scarlet with fury, the Slayer coiling just beneath the surface in response to her rising bloodlust. Could still see the moment Elliseme realized her mistake in trying to justify her actions to Ilyrana.

When the Queen had attempted to explain herself further, Ilyrana had taken her knife and cut away the laces of her gown, letting the dress fall into a pile at her feet. Ilyrana had stood there before Elliseme, naked, her body trembling with stark hatred and rage, and made her look at what the other woman's decisions had done to her. How Irenicus had carved and burned his obsession with his Queen into Ilyrana's flesh.

She had spent the following six months or so in Suldanessellar. She hadn't wanted to, at first. Being around that many other elves, especially the males, had made her uneasy to say the least. The Queen had promised to help heal Ilyrana's mind, though, to teach her how to move past the horrors inflicted upon her, and to control the darkness tainting her soul. To some extent, Elliseme had succeeded. If temporarily.

Ilyrana's control had certainly improved, and for the first time since the Slayer had ripped its way out of her body, she was confident she could keep it contained. The rest, however… didn't stick. Maybe, if she were a stronger person, a better person, she could have forgiven the Queen, aided the people in the aftermath of their homes being destroyed, and become more enlightened or whatever the fuck they had tried to teach her.

Instead, she had taken what knowledge she felt would benefit her the most in the future, helped rebuild and restore anything that would aid the children there, but refused to assist in anything else. The night she walked out of there, heading towards the stones that would speak to her about her fate, and where Sarevok had appeared to her to bargain for his rebirth, she hadn't said goodbye. No one, not even the Queen, knew that she had left until the following morning.

When she finished scrubbing every inch of her skin, she drained the now dirty brown water and toweled off. Taking a deep, bracing breath, she downed the  half glass of wine and turned to the mirror. Reaching out to tug down the towel she had thrown over it, she noticed her hand was shaking. She would never be able to do this sober.

When the last bit of the glass was uncovered, she let the towel slip from her fingers and, for the first time in years, looked at herself.

The first thing she focused on were the scars. The silvery lines on the side of her neck and the torn vampire bite near her shoulder. A fresh, pinkish scar on her chest, another on her lower abdomen, and one on her leg from the crossbow bolts. The jagged scar that wrapped around her right side from Sarevok. Turning to look over her shoulder, she counted the Xs running down her spine. Twelve. She was surprised how little that knowledge, and the sight of them, affected her.

Facing forward again, she followed the curves of her breasts with her eyes, down her tiny waist, her slightly fuller hips, her scarred thighs, and everything in between. She had obviously dropped weight that she already couldn't afford to lose, evidenced by how she could count her ribs. Tilting her head, she tried to look at herself impartially. She knew the effect her appearance had on men in general, and she had preened over it years before, but it was still hard to find herself appealing after everything that had been done to the body.

It was more like looking at a suit of armor. One that had already been used, and thus was no longer pristine, but it's ability to fulfill it's purpose hadn't been hampered. She had come to find it's marred surface to be a reminder of what it had endured. Not just as a physical representation of the damage, but also a reassurance that it can hold up to further mistreatment because it had already proven itself to be resilient.

Perhaps that was another reason why she took such little care of it these days. She ate enough to survive, but not to thrive. She put forth the barest minimum of efforts to properly nourish and sustain her body, unwittingly punishing it for, in her mind, its role in the agony that had been inflicted upon her. Ilyrana had, in essence, become as cruel an abuser to it as others had been.

Strange. She'd never thought of it like that before.

Raising a hand to her neck, she traced the healing cut on her throat, then the red bite marks that dotted one side of it. Stepping closer to the mirror, her eyes finally met the gaze of her reflection. Saw the dark shadows beneath them. Noted how cold her expression was. Her skin had become rapidly paler as the redness from the hot water faded. Only a few shades shy of alabaster. Making her hair even darker in contrast. Imoen had been right about her almost-vampiric appearance.

Breaking the stare, having looked into her own eyes as long as she was able to, Ilyrana finally noticed the faint bruises around her waist. Lightly, she touched her fingers to them, remembering the raw strength of the hands of the one who gave them to her. It was because of him that she was facing herself in the mirror. Because of the possessive way he'd clutched her to him, and the way his dark eyes had consumed her, making her feel simultaneously vulnerable against such intensity and yet powerful because of how desperate he had been for her.

Truthfully, she still didn't know what to think of all this. If they didn't have so much history, had they met under vastly different circumstances, it wouldn't be perplexing at all. She was a being of power, a creature of violence and destruction. He was a paragon of those things. Like called to like. She would have wanted him the moment she saw him, to throw herself against that arrogance and cunning, knowing he could weather her storm. Knowing he wouldn't balk at the darkness in her blood, because he shared it. Reveled in it, as she secretly longed to do.

She had told Valygar there wouldn't be a next time, and while she could obstinately deny that that power play with their soul had been a “next time”, she couldn't pretend it's effect was any different than if it had been real. She also couldn't discount the list of reasons why bedding him was a terrible idea.

Perhaps, if she knew it would only be the one time, she'd do it without much reservation. She could scratch this itch with no one the wiser and then move on. The problem was that it might not be just once. And the longer this affair was drawn out, the likelier it would be discovered. And once it was brought to light, all Hell would break loose. She couldn't afford that. Not this late in the game. Not when she was this close to finally being free of fate, and destiny, and prophecies, and being just another pawn of the gods.

A tiny part of her, though, wanted to throw caution to the wind and just be selfish. To give herself to him, come what may. It was her body, her life. How many times had this kind of choice been stripped from her? So rarely did she have a say in what happened to her. If the others had a problem what could they do? She and Sarevok were too strong to take on together, and if her companions left, there were others who could replace them. Remembering their battle against the mercenary army, and how many just the two of them had slain, she couldn't help but wonder how much more powerful they could become. If they could fully trust in, and work with, each other. If they could become what they had planned to be when they were children.

Leaning down, Ilyrana plucked a long-sleeved shirt out of the basket of freshly laundered clothes and slipped it over her head. Next, her smallclothes, followed by a woolen pair of loose fitting pajama pants. Stepping out of the bathroom, she idly began braiding her hair over her shoulder as she studied her sleeping sister.

Ilyrana could accept the repercussions of taking Sarevok for a lover, all of them, except for Imoen. She knew her little sister would never accept it.

So no, there wouldn't, couldn't, be a next time. Not if it meant losing the only thing left in this dark world that truly mattered to her. The only thing good.

Blowing out a few of the candles on the nightstand, she slipped into bed, pulling the sheet up over herself and Imoen. Reaching out, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her sister's ear, smiling a little as the girl mumbled something incoherent in her sleep.

No, if she had to choose, her choice was already made. And she _would_ have to choose if she tried to have both.

Still, even knowing this, she felt that tug of loneliness again. After all, before she loved Imoen, or anyone else, she had loved Sarevok first.

* * *

 

_Sarevok_

Heading down the stairs, tense with exhaustion from a restless night plagued by dreams of _her,_ Sarevok scanned the dining room. Two tables of mercenaries sat huddled over their breakfast, talking amongst themselves. Keldorn and Valygar sat at a table on the opposite end of the room.

As he approached the other men, the ranger glanced up at him, motioned to the chair beside him, and leaned back, sipping his coffee.

“So, I expect you've noticed by now that we're short a Bhaalspawn or two,” Valygar said as Sarevok poured his own cup of coffee.

“Where are they?”

“Somewhere here in town. Haer’Dalis is tailing them to make sure they don't get into any trouble, intentional or otherwise.”

Sarevok studied the men. Valygar looked almost gleeful, like he'd just heard a joke and was eager to share it. Keldorn appeared equal parts amused and exasperated.

“And?”

“I'm surprised you didn't hear the commotion earlier this morning. Apparently, Rana and Imoen woke up to a rather large spider trying to crawl into bed with them. Now, the term “large” here apparently has differing meanings to them, because one swears it was the size of a dinner plate, and the other adamantly believes it was at least as big as a dog. Both of them, though, decided they wouldn't be staying another minute in this inn, and said they were going to search for accommodation elsewhere.”

“You're telling me we're leaving because they saw a spider? They've fought dragons-”

“I tried to point that out as well, and received a very loud lesson in how the number of legs and eyes a creature has is what determines how terrifying it is. Dragons, having the ‘acceptable’ amount of limbs and eyes, are a far more preferable foe to a dinner plate or dog sized arachnid.”

Keldorn slid a plate of food towards him and picked up the story.

“The bard was kind enough to relay a message to us just a few moments ago that says, and I quote, 'Our lovely birds have found a new roost. Be prepared to do your own laundry.’”

For some reason, none of this conversation sat well with him. He decided he might as well eat while he had the chance. He'd deal with whatever Ilyrana was scheming once she returned. In the meantime, there was much to think about.

Sarevok hadn't meant to ensnare her with his half of their soul. He didn't know what had possessed him to even try it. He hadn't even known something like that were possible. Replaying their mock fight and the aftermath over and over again, he just hadn't been ready to relinquish her to her companions.

But once he'd had her, and the possibilities of what he could do began to unfold, he couldn't stop himself from toying with her. Showing her the means of escape, then giving her every reason not to want to use it, was far more satisfying than he could admit. All she had to do was tell him to stop. It had taken her longer than he'd expected. Long enough that he'd begun to drown in the very fantasy he'd created. Next time, he would be better prepared.

“Ah, I see Anomen has finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Valygar mumbled as he watched the young man trudge wearily down the steps and begin making his way toward the bar.

“Someone told him about Rana, correct?” Keldorn asked. “Please tell me you did.”

Valygar apologetically shook his head while Sarevok merely raised an eyebrow at the absurdity of directing that question anywhere near him.

“Torm help me,” the old paladin murmured before rising and intercepting the man.

Sarevok watched the Helmite raise his head and look directly at him, his bloodshot eyes widening in shock to see him alive. He could tolerate Rana's companions for the most part, but the Harper, and _especially_ the priest, he would have her do away with if he could convince her to do so. Better yet would be if he could bury them, but they would have to do something to make Rana acquiesce to executing them.

He doubted Jaheira had it in her to do anything horrible enough, or treacherous enough, to push the girl that far. Even _if_ she belonged to a group who'd done far worse than even he had. Anomen on the other hand...

His own intentions for the girl were far from pure, but the priest’s were just as suspect, if not more so. Sarevok had seen plenty of men like him in Baldur's Gate. He recognized that calculating, obsessed, look. Knew it was only a matter of time before Anomen grew tired of pursuing something he could not have. And, instead, try and take it by force. He had his doubts that he actually had the balls to take on Rana, and risk the Slayer's immediate retribution, but desperation and disillusionment were powerful motivators.

And now the Helmite knew of Ilyrana's return.

As the two stared at one another, Sarevok felt his eyes begin to glow in response to his mounting rage. Anomen coveted what would be his. The fool's days were numbered.

“Easy, Anchev. We don't want to give those sellswords a reason to look twice at us.”

“Let them look twice. They'll fall just as quickly as the priest.”

“I don't like him either, but he hasn't done anything to justify being executed.”

“ _Yet.”_

“You want to murder a man because he _may_ do something to deserve it in the future? You of all people should understand-”

“Don't pretend you don't know what Anomen wants, Valygar. That he isn't one of the reasons you rarely let her out of your sight.”

“Of course I know what he wants. He's been making it painfully obvious for as long as he's been around. It's the same thing _you_ want.”

“Then you should understand why I want him dead.”

“Funny. I didn't take you for the insecure type.”

“I have no concern whatsoever that she will suddenly decide she wants the priest. He's had years to court her and failed. My concern, and one I believe that you share as well, is that he's going to grow tired of pathetically pining after her and do something stupid.”

Valygar didn't immediately reply. Sarevok reigned in his temper and broke the stare with Anomen. It infuriated him that he couldn't act on his impulses, and cull the weak and foolish from this company. Adjusting to obeying and following another had been difficult. He'd faked it often enough with Rieltar to know how, but he much preferred calling the shots. Though, despite his earlier words to her on the subject, Ilyrana was incredibly skilled at leading. Especially considering what she had to work with.

“I almost killed you last night,” Valygar said softly. “When I saw you with her. I wasn't sure if what the two of you were doing was consensual. For a few seconds, at least.”

“And now that you know it was? You said the priest and I both want the same thing. Tell me, ranger, why is it you do your best to keep him away from her, yet you haven't foolishly tried the same with me?”

“Because you know what she is. And I think you want her because of it, not in spite of it. Yoshimo feared her. Anomen can't see past the pretty face and harrowing destiny to truly understand what it is he wants to get in bed with. You do. I don't fully trust you, I don't fully trust anyone, but I do trust her. I also know you're not stupid, and you've seen the Slayer, so I don't think I have to threaten you about hurting her, because there won't be anything left of you for me to kill once it's done with you.”

Sarevok decided, then and there, that he liked the man. He also made a note that, if he found himself in a situation where he would have to kill some of her companions, Valygar would be his first target. Such loyalty was rare, and deadly when used properly. Sarevok wondered how Ilyrana had earned it.

“And what is she, Valygar?”

The ranger gazed steadily at him, his face passive, before smiling a little sadly.

“She’s her father's daughter.”

“My lady!” Anomen exclaimed, loud enough to quiet the room and have everyone turn to look at him before turning to look at the front door.

Ilyrana and Imoen entered the dining room, both of them looking simultaneously mischievous and triumphant, and Sarevok wished he'd cut the Helmite in half like he had fantasized about doing.

It was immediately obvious that she'd actually gotten some sleep during the night. The shadows under her eyes were lighter, her skin a little less pale, her eyes a little clearer. For perhaps the second time since his resurrection, she'd left her hair down, so that it fell in sable waves down her back, the tips just brushing her waist. The shirt she wore hung off one shoulder, exposing the silken skin that he wanted to sink his teeth back into. He wanted to pluck out every set of eyes that had a cock attached to them.

In her hand, she twirled a scroll of parchment. She had looked up at Anomen's exclamation, and smiled in greeting, before turning her gaze to Keldorn, then Valygar, and lastly Sarevok.

Her face gave nothing away as to what was happening inside that head of hers, and she looked away too quickly for him to try and read anything.

Grabbing a chair at their table, Ilyrana turned it so she could straddle it, and Imoen did the same with the chair next to her. The two of them moving in tandem like that made that feeling of unease from earlier come roaring back to the fore.

“Alright, where's Jaheira and Viconia?”

“They were both down earlier this morning for breakfast, but I think they retired to their rooms,” Keldorn answered.

“Can you ask them to come down here?”

Keldorn bowed his head and left to retrieve them.

“Where's Haer’Dalis?” Imoen asked, looking around.

“He's been following us all morning, I expect he'll walk through the door any minute.”

“ _He has?!_ Why didn't you say anything?”

“Oh. I thought you knew. He's not exactly the stealthiest. And you can smell the sulfur from pretty far away.”

“I don't have your sense of smell, Rana.”

“My apologies for your inferior human senses.”

“Rana, Keldorn's only just told me, I thought you were… well, I'm glad you're alive,” Anomen said, obviously trying to control his emotions. And failing.

“Me too,” Ilyrana replied with a small smile.

“Alright, so do I need to make a public service announcement about spiders surpassing dragons in terms of the dangers they pose to the common folk?” Valygar asked in a serious tone.

Two pairs of eyes fell on the ranger and narrowed.

“You can joke all you like,” Ilyrana said archly. “But unless you're volunteering to kill them when they appear in our bedrooms, you don't get to complain about the measures we feel we must take in order to assure our own safety. And peace of mind.”

“Measures meaning fleeing the building and moving camp,” Sarevok responded dryly.

“I don't hear you offering to kill them either,” Ilyrana shot back.

“I shouldn't have to. They're _spiders-”_

“My lady, _I_ have no objections to killing the things,” Anomen interjected.

Sarevok saw Valygar quickly raise his mug to his lips to hide his grin, while purposefully avoiding looking at anyone.

“Thanks, Annie! That one should still be in our room, here's the key,” Imoen said cheerfully and tossed the key to the man. “Oh, and don't forget to dispose of its corpse and clean up any mess you may have had to make whilst battling it.”

“How many times do I have to ask you _not_ to call me that?”

“Oops. Sorry, Annie. I won't anymore, I promise.”

Sarevok feared Valygar's attempts to contain his laughter might result in an apoplexy.

“It can wait a minute, Anomen,” Ilyrana said before the priest could embark on his quest. “We have an announcement to make once the others get here.”

“There's Haer'Dalis,” Imoen exclaimed as the tiefling walked through the door.

Sarevok watched Ilyrana watch her sister, gauging the other girl's reaction to the Bard's appearance.

“Was I being awaited? I'm sorry, my birds, this sparrow needed to stretch his wings and-”

“We know you were following us,” both girls chorused.

“Humph. Well, you could have slowed your grueling pace, then. I'm afraid I'm not as young as I appear to be.”

“You got winded just by walking around town?” Sarevok drawled.

“No, he got winded from all the pickpocketing he was doing while trying to keep an eye on us while also trying, unsuccessfully I might add, to avoid detection.”

Haer'Dalis gave Ilyrana a sullen, wounded look. She gave him an almost innocent looking smile. The Bard's lips quirked up at the edges as he fought to remain unfazed by it. Losing that battle, he sighed dramatically and collapsed into the chair Keldorn had vacated to begin rifling through his “earnings”.

Keldorn began making his way down the stairs with Jaheira in tow.

“Ooh, gimme that fire opal ring,” Ilyrana whispered and reached out to pluck it from Haer'Dalis.

“You don't get to share in the spoils if you did not partake in the effort to earn them, my raven,” he chided, turning in the chair to avoid her.

“I'll trade you this diamond necklace I snagged,” she countered, digging in her pouch.

“Diamonds are worth far more than opals, bufflehead.”

“But they're far less pretty.”

“I won't argue that,” Haer'Dalis agreed and made the trade under the table before the paladin saw them.

“You two should feel ashamed,” Valygar murmured, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Hey, we stole these fair and square, so they're ours to do with as we please.”

“Besides, that diamond necklace is gorgeous and as soon as Haer’Dalis let's his guard down, it's mine,” Imoen quipped.

“Perhaps you would have better luck with petty larceny if you didn't announce your target and your method for extraction, my wildflower.”

“What if I said I was going to try and seduce you for it, instead?”

“You're still announcing your intentions,” Sarevok said.

“No one asked you, and I think I know a little bit more about thievery than you do.”

“Though a lot less of seduction if your obvious technique is anything to go by.”

“You've never seen me use my 'techniques’ so your opinion means nothing.”

“Thank the gods for that.”

 _“_ Alright, we're just waiting on Viconia,” Keldorn announced as he and the druid joined them.

Sarevok watched Ilyrana cast a wary glance at Jaheira then look away before their gazes met. It wasn't surprising. Ilyrana's reaction to that Protection from Evil spell definitely would have been cause for alarm. Some sort of talk must be coming and she knew it. He wondered if the Harper's overbearing nature might end up working in his favor.

Leaning back in his chair, and reaching out with his half of their soul, he tried to get an idea of what was going through Ilyrana's mind. He watched her eyes lock onto him and narrow as she felt him briefly make contact. She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, trying to warn him off.

He turned his gaze to the paladin, who had begun explaining why Viconia was taking so long. He didn't care what he had to say, he just wanted Ilyrana to put her guard down a little. Without looking at her, he tried again.

She must have anticipated this because, as soon as he reached out, she struck. Exactly as he had the previous night. Completely unprepared for her assault, it took him a moment to orient himself.

Mercilessly, she formed a vision in his head before he could mount a defense. The others disappeared. It was just the two of them now.

He stopped struggling.

He watched her rise from her chair and begin slowly walking around the table towards him, her nails lightly skimming the surface of the wood. Her eyes glowed brighter as she neared him. She stopped once she stood beside him.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn't give her the chance. Pushing back, he briefly won control of this little scenario. His arm shot out, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her into his lap, so that she was straddling him as she had just been doing to the chair.

He felt her fight back, trying to regain dominance. He let her half of their soul have it, relinquishing his foothold. For now.

Sliding her hands up his chest, she leaned forward until her breasts pressed against him, her back arching just as her lips brushed his throat.

_Did you honestly think I was going to let you do this again?_

Her voice rolled through his mind, already husky with desire. Her nails softly raked the back of his neck and her teeth grazed an earlobe. Her intoxicating scent washed over him, momentarily blocking out his ability to think. As much as he wanted to see what she'd do, he couldn't remain passive. Couldn't possibly go without touching her.

_Give me some control, Rana._

_Why would I do that?_

_Because you want to._

She pondered his request for a moment, pressing small, almost chaste kisses down the side of his neck as she did so.

_Alright, just a little._

Immediately his hands wrapped around her hips, squeezing as he lowered his mouth to her shoulder so he could nip at the skin there; as he had been longing to do since she walked in.

A small sound escaped her lips and she went still for just a moment, her breathing becoming ragged as his tongue flicked against the scar he found there. Then she began to move.

He couldn't stop from groaning as her hips rolled up and then back, grinding against his lap. His thumbs slipped beneath her shirt, teasing the sensitive skin just above her belt.

Her head fell back and her hands slid to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as she languidly moved against him. He reached up to wrap a length of her hair in his fist, keeping her head pulled back, leaving her throat open to his teeth. She bore down harder on him, whimpering when he thrust up against her.

Releasing her hair, his hand slid to wrap around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her breaths quicken. His thumb then glided up to brush across her bottom lip. He hissed in a breath when he felt her tongue flick against it before she drew it between her lips, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked.

_Look at me._

Her eyes met his, half-lidded, glowing like candlelight.  Breathing out a curse, the hand at her waist slid up her shirt to cup a breast.

Logic and reason left him. The fact that all of this wasn't real faded away. That they weren't actually alone, but among the others, did not matter at all. He wanted inside her, one way or another. _Now._

_You're mine, Ilyrana._

He snarled at her, readying to assume complete dominion over this vision, and her. It was at that moment that she struck again, wresting back full control, thus stripping him of the power she'd given him.

_I think not._

She vanished, only to reappear out of his reach, with the table standing between them. Her eyes still smoldered, but her expression had gone cold.

 _Stay out of my head, Sarevok. Keep your half of my_ _soul on your end, and I'll do the same with mine. No more of these tricks and illusions. I will not let you endanger everything I've fought and bled for._

Rage burned through him at her words. This was all a game? Though nothing like the one he had played last night. She had intentionally teased him, rousing his desire to a fever pitch just to draw away. For what purpose? What was he endangering?

_What are you talking about?_

_You can't look outside yourself for just a moment to consider what I'd be risking? What I stand to lose?_

This was about her sister? And perhaps the others, as well, but Imoen always factored into everything Rana did. And didn't do. Her attachment to the girl was holding her back from far more than just him. He had to make her see that.

 _You risk NOTHING! You stand to lose NOTHING!_ You _are a child of Bhaal. How can you possibly bend to the whims of others when they are beneath you? You want this, I can feel it in OUR_ soul.

_Yes, I do, but-_

_But NOTHING! Tell me you haven't wanted this since our talk about the memories. Tell me you haven't ALWAYS wanted this, even if you couldn't admit it to yourself. It took me awhile to realize it, too, Rana, and even longer to accept it, but ever since the night I saw you outside of Candlekeep, I've wanted to claim you as my own. I just couldn't see past the taint and my hate. I can now. And I know you can, too._

She looked away from him and closed her eyes, all but confirming what he said was true. After taking a deep breath, she turned back to him.

_What I want doesn't matter-_

_It DOES matter, you little fool!_

He tried reigning in his temper, knowing that lashing out at her would only cement her decision. But gods it was difficult when she was trying to run away from him. When just moments ago she had nearly been his.

_Rana listen to me, you and I are not like those you surround yourself with. We aren't even like our kin. We are greater. And, together we can be more than we ever could be alone. Give yourself to me and I will not rest until all of your foes are dead at our feet. Until you can claim what's rightfully yours._

_And what is rightfully mine, Sarevok?_

He should have picked up on the careful tone of her thoughts. Should have remembered that foolish, stubborn commitment to her sister. Should have eased her into this discussion only when he was certain she was open to see reason, like she tended to be when she was away from the others. His lust for her body, as well as her power, though, blinded him.

 _Your birthright, little one. I truly believe that you could be_ _the one Alaundo's Prophecy spoke of. How could you not be? Look at everything you've done. At everything you've overcome. Rana, you and I swore we would be unstoppable one day. That when we grew up, none could stand before us, because nothing could come between us. Look at us now. We are so much stronger than we ever imagined we could be. If you can trust me, we can fulfill our vows to one another. And once the rest has fallen before our might, you will ascend, and become what I could not. Think of it! You, the new Lady of Murder._

_And what of you? What would you become?_

_Whatever you desired me to be. With your blessing, I could lead your armies and crush any who displeased you. I would conquer nations in your name. Men would tremble at just the thought of your wrath, I would make sure of it. Nothing could stop us, Rana. Nothing._

_Is that what this has all been about? Your fucking ambition? Gods, how could I have not seen it?! You try and chastise me for caring for Imoen while pushing your own selfish agenda. How could I have let myself forget for a single instant how you are?!_

_Rana, wait, you misunderstand-_

_I misunderstand nothing! You thought to seduce me so you could start whispering your schemes into my ear and start twisting everything I am to suit your purpose. To turn me into a more pliant version of you. So you could wield the only power that's available to you now that godhood is off the table. And you DARE bring up what we promised each other when we were younger? You don't deserve to even possess that memory! You are everything that we hated as children. Everything we yearned to destroy._

_Damnit, girl, listen to me!_

_I've heard enough. Stay the fuck out of my head, Sarevok. I will not be your plaything. And you better hope I don't decide to become your goddess, because I swear to you I will make you suffer._

Pain flared in his head as she viciously broke the link between them, slapping his half away from her own.

“My lady, are you well?” Anomen asked, resting his hand on Rana's shoulder and studying her as she zoned back into the world around them.

“I'm fine. Just tired. Been a long morning,” she replied, shrugging the priest off and rising to her feet.

He was startled to see that not nearly as much time had gone by as he thought. A minute or two perhaps, and Viconia was just now making her way down the stairs.

Keldorn looked at the two of them, reading far more into what had just happened than the others could. His brow furrowed in concern, but he said nothing at the moment.

“What is this all about, abbil? Why did you have this fossil come fetch me?”

“Come now, Viconia, I'm not _that_ old. Surely, you-”

“In light of the recent spider assault, Imoen and I decided to search for nicer, cleaner, bug-free lodgings,” Ilyrana spoke over the paladin, her tone almost flat.

The excitement that had been there before their quarrel was gone now.

“We found a recently vacated estate for sale near the outskirts of town. Fully furnished.”

Ilyrana broke the wax seal around the scroll in her hand and unrolled it before placing it on the table.

“You bought a house?” Valygar asked in surprise.

“ _We_ bought a house,” Imoen corrected, pointing to her signature below Rana's.

Sarevok stared at her, his head throbbing. He cursed himself for springing his plan on her without having had any time to ease her into it. But, he had felt her slipping out of his grasp, clinging to the dead weight that was her love for Imoen. He had to try and make her see reason, make her see that she could be so much more if he were at her side. If she allowed him to guide her to her full potential.

What was infuriating, though, was that, had he not mentioned the prophecy, or her ascension, he was almost positive he could have at least changed her mind about being with him. She had wavered in her convictions, torn between what she wanted and what she thought she should want. He had felt it, and  should have capitalized on it. Should have persuaded her to bind herself more to him before he did anything else.

“How big is it?”

“How many rooms are there?”

“Am I going to have to share a bathroom with you rivven?”

“Wait, did you say we're going to have to do our own laundry?”

“Can we hire housekeepers?”

The voices of the others rose as they began to badger Ilyrana and Imoen with questions. It did nothing to improve his headache.

“Alright, listen,” Ilyrana raised her voice to be heard over the din. “If you want servants, _you_ can pay their wages, since I bought the place. And you need to do a thorough interview of them first, please. If I find out one of you hired an assassin or informant, I'm going to be irate. There's plenty of space, so there shouldn't be too much fighting over bedrooms, but if you want to dispute a claimed room, you have twenty four hours to throw down the gauntlet and settle it in a non-lethal way of your choosing. The exception being that Imoen and I have already chosen our rooms and the place is in our names so those aren't up for dispute. In the meantime, I have some errands to run and I know some of you want to organize and restock your gear, settle in, explore town, or help the locals, so we're not going anywhere for the next three days.”

“Rana, I'd like a word, please,” Keldorn said, waiting off to the side as everyone began shuffling to their rooms to begin packing their things.

“Not right now,” Ilyrana replied, rolling the deed back up and handing it off to her sister. “I have some business to take care of, Keldorn, you can speak to me tonight or in the morning.”

Sarevok watched the paladin start to argue, then think better of it.

“As you will.”

“Is someone going with you, godchild?” Jaheira asked. “It's not safe to go out into this place alone when we still don't know too much about it. Not to mention-”

“No, Jaheira, I need to do this alone. When you're all ready to leave, Imoen will show you where our new place is at.”

“My lady, before you return to your room, let me make sure the spider is gone.”

There was a squelching thud off by the foot of the stairs, and everyone looked up to see what had caused it. Viconia stood at the top of the stairs, hip against the banister, leisurely cleaning her dagger with a piece of cloth. On the ground, lay the curled remains of a dead, dog sized, spider.

“Abbil, next time one of these bothers you, please inform me. I do so enjoy disposing of them.”

Anomen let out a displeased, put out, sound. Ilyrana's lips twitched, almost into a smile, before she bowed her head to the drow, and began making her way towards the stairs and to her room. Giving the dessicated corpse a wide berth.

“Valygar-” Jaheira began, turning to the ranger, but he cut her off.

“I'll keep an eye on her.”

“Thank you,” she replied in an almost formal tone.

Valygar brushed past her without replying.

Sarevok watched all of this unfold. The Helmite’s thwarted attempt at slaying a spider in order to gain his lady's favor. The way the druid and the ranger seemed to barely tolerate speaking civilly to one another. The paladin's obvious reluctance to let Ilyrana leave without speaking to her; and the way the man's gaze kept coming back to rest on him. When Keldorn eventually turned to him, Sarevok pinned him with a glare, rose from the table, and began heading toward the room he'd barely been able to snag last night.

He'd give her some time to cool off. They weren't leaving this town for three days. So he had plenty of time to get his thoughts in order, in private, where he couldn't get distracted by the sight and scent of her.

Sarevok wasn't ready to cede the battle to her just yet. He would respect her demand to stay out of her head, especially now that he knew she could turn the tables on him so effectively. Besides, there were other, more traditional methods of seduction.

As he finished ascending the stairs, he felt the space on his back, between his shoulders, tingle. Turning, he locked eyes with Imoen who was standing by the front door. She had obviously been watching him for some time, though he hadn't any idea why. The girl stared unblinkingly up at him, long enough to begin making him uncomfortable, and he started to get the impression she was seeing straight into him.

His eyes began to glow in anger at her impertinence. Slowly, she turned her back on him. His unease began to fade. Shaking his head, he continued on to his room, cursing the irritating nature of female bhaalspawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sarevok. Done. Messed. Up.


	15. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Ludicrous amounts of alcohol ahead!
> 
> Also, I changed Anomen's story from SoA quite a bit, so if it sounds way different, that's why.
> 
> Some dark themes brought up in this chapter, interspersed with hilarity.

_Ilyrana_

Ilyrana strolled down the busy streets of Tor Niedrig, her hood pulled low over her face. No one had batted an eye at her earlier that morning with Imoen, and she'd seen no Wanted posters, so she had assumed it was safe enough to venture out uncloaked with her sister. Now, though, she didn't wish to be disturbed by an passersby who might be trying to hawk their wares. Nor did she wish for the handful of half siblings that she'd begun to detect to pay too close attention to her.

Normally, she would be relishing this rare opportunity to be alone, but this afternoon, her mood was dour to say the least.

She had been so excited to buy that estate, even if it had cost her most of her current stockpile of gold. Not only was it a beautiful place, and in a good location, but it was something that belonged to her. _Hers_. Like the cabin she'd bought in the Windspear Hills, only it didn't feel like a million miles away. A space she could call home, for a time, when the very concept of home was exotic to her.

When she and Imoen had been given the tour, all she could think about was how amazing it would be to come back to the same place after every foray, to have something familiar waiting at the end of each journey. To sleep in the same bed. Bathe in the same tub. Know which drawer held her clothes, and which held her supplies of herbs or feathers for fletching. She could lay out the shells, stones, crystals, and other such baubles she'd collected over the years, line them up on a shelf or atop a dresser. Even the thought of domestic chores like cooking, cleaning, and changing the linens sounded exciting, simply because those habits had become foreign to her, after so long on the road.

And then Sarevok happened.

Like an old lover, her rage came back to her, sweeping her off her feet as she recalled his words, spoken within her mind, her _soul_. Just the thought of him talking about her ascending, when he knew damn well she didn't want to in the slightest, made her blood boil. And then to bring up their vows. There were so many over the brief course of their time together as children that she knew she couldn't recall them all, but the most meaningful ones stood out.

They were a team, and nothing would change that.

No one would harm her, or he'd kill them.

Together, they would find a way to become impervious to the evils that surrounded them.

They would never part, for any reason, because there could be nothing so dire as to require that.

They would become strong, and fast, and cunning, so that no one could ever hurt them again.

Nothing would ever tear them apart.

Beautiful, foolish promises. Oaths sworn in innocence, because, even though they had witnessed and endured things that no child ever should, there was still much they were naive about. This was evidenced by the fact that they were indeed torn apart from one another, and they had been helpless to prevent it. And while they both certainly became stronger, and faster, and more cunning, their skills were used to survive in her case, and pursue power in his. Plenty of people had hurt them, also, regardless of how powerful they were.

The realization that Sarevok had interpreted those remembered vows in a very different way than she had stung. She still meant them as she had sworn them at the time; that they could forge a stronger bond that not even the gods themselves could break. He believed the only way to fulfill them was for her to become a goddess, and he her general, or high priest, or whatever. A powerful partnership, surely, but an empty one.

Godhood had never held any appeal for her. To her way of thinking, it was just a different set of chains with a different set of rules. By ascending, she would gain a whole new host of enemies, not least of which was Cyric, who had usurped her father, and all of them had been playing this chess match much longer than she had. She could understand why that outcome would draw someone like Sarevok, who obviously enjoyed warring, and mind games, and manipulating, and plotting, and every other kind of vicious game the gods played. Rana, however, wanted nothing to do with any of it. She'd rather they all forget about her and left her the Hell alone.

A tiny voice in the back of her mind tried to remind her that she had been in the process of telling him she didn't want to pursue anything further with him. So what did it matter what his intentions had been? Why had that revelation cut so deeply when she was the one drawing a line in the sand that there would be no relationship? Of any kind.

She knew the answer. He had given it to her, his words resonating with the truth she tried to deny. Lying and hiding within one's mind, within one's soul, was practically impossible.

_Tell me you haven't wanted this since our talk about the memories. Tell me you haven't ALWAYS wanted this, even if you couldn't admit it to yourself._

She couldn't deny it. He knew it, and she knew it. What he couldn't seem to grasp, however, was that it indeed did not matter.

In their minds, in the fantasy they had created and shared, her attempt to put a halt to their… whatever this was, had been completely foiled. She had intended to tell him, face to face, the next time they were alone. But then she'd felt his half of their soul trying to reach out and read hers. Not once, but twice. With her companions seated around them, no less. On his second attempt, she'd copied his earlier tactic and pounced, spinning her half around his like the spider ensnares the fly.

That small victory had gone to her head. She had wanted to make him pay for his audacity. To remind him of not only what she would not surrender to him, but also who he was dealing with, since he'd obviously forgotten. Of course, Sarevok couldn't just submit and allow her to carry out her own little game, and he'd been right about her wanting him to share in the control. She had told herself she'd relinquished it to make the outcome more satisfying, when she revealed this was as intimate as they would ever be again. Maybe one day she'd attain the ability to believe the lies she tried to spoon feed herself.

In the end, though, he achieved what she had almost failed to do. Had he fought back, and wrested control of the vision away from her, then brought all that intensity and hunger to bear, she would have caved. Instead, he forcefully reminded her that there was nothing left of that little boy she tried to superimpose over the man he'd become. Had dispelled that illusion she had created to fool herself, leaving her no choice but to accept the reality that that boy only existed in the recesses of her heart now.

It was much like pulling out a splinter. That tiny shard of wood didn't belong in there, and even though removing it would be painful, it had to be done or it would fester. And the pain would become so much worse than if you'd just ripped it out the second it became lodged in there.

Turning down a side street leading toward a temple of Waukeen, Ilyrana decided it would be best to put Sarevok out of her mind and focus on her next move against the remaining members of the Five.

After she completed this necessary task.

Upon entering the temple, she stopped a moment to appreciate its interior, having always found Waukeen's places of worship far more impressive than most. Save, perhaps, Talos.

“Waukeen's blessings upon you, traveller. How may I be of assistance?”

“Greetings. Would you be the Overgold?”

“I am.”

“Alright, I'd like to see if I can send a package with the next trade caravan, or perhaps a courier if one is available.”

“Of course. To where will you be sending it?”

“Trademeet.”

“There will be a few leaving town soon, though I fear if you will be awaiting a letter back, winter's first snows may have made the routes impassable by that time.”

“I won't be requesting a reply.”

“Very good, if you would give me your package, the fee is fifty gold, I will see that it's on the next caravan out of here, and that it is to be transported to Trademeet, so the couriers know where to hand it off to on their next stop.”

Reaching inside her bag of holding, she withdrew a tightly wrapped bundle with an attached letter and handed them to the man, along with a small sack consisting of quite a bit more gold than was the required fee.

“Waukeen smile upon you. Your generous donation is appreciated. We will ensure your package arrives safely at it's destination.”

Bowing her head in thanks, she turned and left the temple, surprised at how much her hands were shaking. She had intended to go home after, but decided she needed something to take the edge off her nerves. Even if just thinking the words “going home” made her smile a little beneath her cowl.

Heading toward what looked to be the other inn in this town, Ilyrana was somewhat thankful it had been full up when her companions had arrived here. It obviously catered to a much wealthier clientele, so that the sudden appearance of giant spiders would have been far less likely. Meaning, had they rented rooms here instead of The Last Stop, she might never have been inspired to purchase real estate.

Not even bothering to glance at the sign to see what the establishment’s name is, she entered the building and began making her way to the bar. She was thankful it was still early enough in the day that it was socially unacceptable to be imbibing, because there was almost no one at the bar, which meant she had the drinks to herself and no one to pester her.

Settling back into a bar stool with a glass of Berduskan Dark, which she was rapidly becoming fond of, Ilyrana tried to clear her mind and just relax.

She should have known better.

“A little early for that, don't you think?”

Ilyrana heaved a dramatic sigh and turned her head to watch Valygar slide into the seat next to hers.

“I’m thirsty, as I'm sure you are too after following me around town.”

“Who, me?”

Ilyrana took a healthy swallow of her wine and just looked at the man.

“Alright, you caught me. How'd you know?”

“I didn't. I just figured it was too big a coincidence you and I ended up at the same tavern in need of a drink when the sun isn't even at it's peak, yet.”

“Fair enough.”

The ranger ordered a tankard of ale and fidgeted while he waited for it. Which wasn't like him. Rana waited until he'd gotten his drink and quaffed half of it. Before she could ask him what was the matter, he spoke.

“Can I ask you what you were doing in that temple that made you want to drink this early?

“I was sending a package. To Trademeet. To Pala.”

Valygar closed his eyes and bowed his head a moment. Rana drained the rest of her wine and pushed her glass forward for a refill.

“You told Pala what happened?”

“Yes. Not in great detail, but yes. I also sent her Mazzy's sword and helm that I was able to recover before we left the hot springs. Along with the rest of my current gold stash, so Mazzy's sister will want for nothing. I hate that I can't do more.”

“I wish you'd told me, so I could have sent a letter with yours.”

“I'm sorry,” Rana replied softly. “I just didn't want the others with me while I did it. Or after.”

“I should have left you alone, then.”

“No, I should have brought you with me. You were her squire, after all. Besides, as I already mentioned, I'm broke now, so I need you here anyway to fund my drinking problem.”

Valygar shook his head, chuckling a little. After they'd both had their glasses refilled, they did a toast to their fallen. For Mazzy. For Edwin. For Korgan.

They didn't speak again for awhile, both lost in their own thoughts. The bartender, whom they learned was named Samuel, and who was the owner and proprietor of The Sawtooth Inn in which they were currently getting drunk, kept their glasses filled and left them to themselves.

“Rana, can I ask you something?” Valygar asked sometime later.

“No.”

“Please?”

“Fine. I can't promise I'll answer, though.”

“Why didn't you force Sarevok to swear to a geas when you brought him back?”

There was no way she could have anticipated that to be his question. She couldn't hide her surprise, or her wariness.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Because I need to know. Jaheira is convinced that he's either going to turn on you, and soon, or he's going to try and corrupt you so he can use you and your growing power. She's been saying things like this since she found out you'd resurrected him, but after we fled the hot springs, all she could talk about was how she'd been saying all along that he would drag you down, and that she was right because of the Protection from Evil spell.”

This wasn't overly surprising to her.

After the others had departed from Suldanessellar following Irenicus's defeat, they had all agreed to meet again six months later just outside the elven city. Obviously, none of them had been prepared for Ilyrana to show up with Sarevok.

She could still remember walking to the meeting spot, keeping him in front, and well to the side of her in case he decided to take her on while they were still alone. He hadn't, of course, instead asking her to fill him in on everything that had happened since his death. She'd obliged up to a point, describing the state of turmoil Baldur's Gate had been in when they left it, and very briefly recounted Irenicus and why she was so far away from the Sword Coast.

She'd left out all details of her torture, her descent into Hell, and just about everything else she didn't want to talk about or didn't want him to know. He knew she was omitting a lot, but he'd been attempting to keep the peace so he hadn't pressed for more information. All the while she’d grumbled about how big of an idiot she was for bringing him back, and wondering how the fuck she was going to explain him to the others.

As they had approached the clearing in the woods, the voices of her companions drifting toward them, she'd moved to walk beside him, and braced for a possibly violent confrontation. He'd asked for a weapon. Obviously, the last thing she was going to do was arm him against her friends. He'd returned in his old armor, but his sword was missing, since Irenicus had had it stolen before Sarevok's ashes could even settle, and now it resided somewhere within Ilyrana's bag of holding, though she hadn't told him that.

Korgan, Valygar, Keldorn, Haer'Dalis, Anomen, and Mazzy had regarded him curiously, if a bit warily, when they saw him. As they didn't know who he was just yet. Jaheira, Imoen, and Edwin, on the other hand, stared at him for about three seconds before grabbing weapons and readying spells. Viconia had simply raised an eyebrow, evincing no stronger a reaction than that, trusting her leader to know what she was doing. Foolish drow.

It had taken a lot of shouting, swearing, and threatening just to keep blood from being drawn. And that was just from her, as Sarevok had remained strangely passive during the confrontation. She supposed, seeing as how he was unarmed, unaware of what her newer companions were capable of, and disinclined to die again only hours after his resurrection, he had thought it wise to keep a chokehold on his temper and let her handle it. Thankfully, saner minds prevailed, and Keldorn had helped defuse the situation.

Those first few weeks had been rough. She'd had to pay close attention to their formations in battle so that no one tried to take advantage of the chaos and strike out against Sarevok, or he against them. She'd been through this before, when introducing a new member to their dysfunctional little family, and one whose presence immediately rubbed someone the wrong way, so she knew it would get easier over time. At least, if she could handle the disputes before they even started.

Ilyrana gulped down her nearly full glass of wine, requested a refill, and when she got it, finally turned to Valygar.

“Because of Yoshimo.”

“You didn't want to enslave him like Irenicus did to Yoshimo.”

“Correct.”

“Alright. Now, _why_ did you bring him back? I know you told the others it was because Sarevok had studied the prophecy far more extensively than almost anyone else and had information to trade. Is that the only reason?”

“Did Jaheira put you up to this?”

“No. She doesn't want to have anything to do with me anymore because I keep defending him. And you. I want to know if her concerns are valid. If I ruined our relationship for nothing.”

Ilyrana felt as if he'd slapped her. And she probably deserved it.

“Valygar, I never asked you to-”

“I didn't mean that as harshly as it sounded. Look, I've trusted my gut so far where he's concerned and haven't been wrong yet. Now, the two of are getting involved and Jaheira is getting more paranoid about him. So, I need to know if I should keep trusting my gut, or if I should prepare my apology to her.”

Ilyrana took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She briefly flirted with the idea of switching to whiskey, to make what she was about to do a little easier and possibly not even remember it in the morning.

“Alright. I guess I owe you an explanation. A full one. This is going to be hard, Val, and most of what I'm about to tell you, no one else knows, save for Sarevok. This means I'm going to be asking you to keep some very big secrets. If you think that's easier than flying blind, then I'll tell you, if not, I can give you some vague reassurances that I only half believe myself.”

The fact that Valygar took a full minute to consider what she said confirmed that, if anything, she at least wasn't telling the wrong person. When he spoke next, his voice was soft, and he didn't look at her.

“Tell me.”

And so she did.

Starting from the beginning, Ilyrana told Valygar everything she could remember of her time at the temple of Bhaal. Of how Sarevok befriended her with a blanket. The constant struggle for food. Her mother's insanity. How viciously Sarevok fought to keep Ilyrana away from High Priest Jorval. How none of the other children formed attachments like they had. The Harper raid. Her mother's death. Gorion wiping all those memories and leaving Sarevok for dead.

Valygar stayed silent throughout, somehow knowing that her story was being told just as much for herself as for him, even if she didn't immediately realize it. The longer she talked, the more details she could remember. With each unburdened sentence, the wounds began to close a little more, bleeding a little less. The infection clearing away.

She told him about Gorion's death. About the search for clues as to who killed him and why they were after her. About the letter her foster father left her that told her she was a child of Bhaal. About her final battle with Sarevok, and how her victory was not because of fate, or luck, or skill, but because remembering her had made him hesitate. She told him why she took so long to heal from that battle. About the sorrow.

Even though she was confessing everything, Ilyrana didn't tell him about the extent of what Irenicus had done to her. She didn't see any good coming from burdening him with that information.

When she got to the part about her and Sarevok's conversation late that night at the inn, where they had finally learned the truth of when their memories had returned, did Valygar interrupt her.

“That's what I walked in on! Nine Hells, Rana, I knew it had to be something big because you looked like you'd been crying and he actually looked shaken.”

“I’m kind of glad you did. I needed the emotional break, and an incoming mercenary army was the perfect excuse to take it.”

“Gods, this explains so much. I understood why the two of you would be hostile to one another, going off just what I knew of already, but it always seemed to be way more personal than it appeared on the surface. If you two hated each other so deeply, why didn't you just avoid one another? Ya know? Now it makes sense.”

“So, now you know. Except that, I'm not entirely sure it matters much anymore. I more or less told him that this can't go any further.”

“Why?! I'm not romantically inclined, but even I can see you're both...well…’soul mates’.”

Ilyrana’s elbow didn't even have time to tingle before it was rammed into his ribs.

“Ouch! Okay, sorry, I couldn't help it. But, seriously, after everything you just told me, about how close you were as children and all of that, don't you want to _try_ and see if you can make it work? I mean, don't you think that if you hadn't been separated that this would have been inevitable?”

“It doesn't matter. I found out this morning at the table that he wants me to ascend and 'claim my birthright’. That he's been pretty much trying to seduce me so he can talk me into becoming a goddess if I get the chance, and then bestowing my favor upon him. As if exchanging orgasms for that kind of power is any kind of fair.”

Valygar choked on his ale, coughing hard enough that she thumped him on the back a few times to make sure he'd live.

“I guess it would depend on the… uh… number of orgasms and how good they are…”

He had the presence of mind to lean away this time, avoiding the ensuing elbow jab.

“Are you trying to say I should just be _okay with that_?” She demanded. “I mean, do you have any idea how irritating it is to be wanted, _in spite of who you are_? That everything that makes me _me_ is only secondary, at best, to what can be obtained _through_ me? Yoshimo wanted to get what he could before my soul was ripped out and he wouldn't be of use to his master anymore. Anomen probably can't even tell you how I take my morning coffee, even though he's been travelling with me for years, but I bet he can tell you which of my shirts best displays my cleavage. And then Sarevok only cares about my power. I mean, is it too much to ask to want me because I'm occasionally funny, or because I have a nice smile, or I'm intelligent and educated or… okay, that's all of my appealing attributes, but _do you see where I'm going with this_?!”

“Yes. I do. I'm sorry, that's gotta be frustrating. You're right, you deserve way better than that.”

“Thank you. I've started to wonder if I'm high maintenance. That expecting someone to actually _like_ me is too high a bar to set for a relationship.”

“No, it's not unreasonable to expect that at all. One question, though. You said you learned all this at the table this morning? Did I miss this conversation? Cause I was sitting right next to him and the two of you barely spoke to one another.”

Ilyrana hadn't exactly meant to divulge that particular little detail. Downing her wine, she ordered more, even though she probably shouldn't, as she'd had way too much already. But if she couldn't stop her mouth from telling Valygar nearly everything, then she was going to keep drinking to at least blunt the embarrassment.

“Well, speaking of soul mates, he and I can do some… things with the halves of my soul.”

“Oh, this should be good. I don't think I've ever seen you blush before,” Valygar replied, hunching over and crossing his arms over his stomach in preparation for any elbow strikes.

As she explained, in as very little detail as possible, the way they could project images, scenes, and words into each other's minds, she stared at the ceiling and pretended she couldn't see the ranger's widening grin as he heard what she wasn't telling him.

“So, let me get this straight. The two of you can show each other what you want to do to the other,” Valygar said in something close to awe, while Ilyrana admired the pattern in the woodgrain above their heads. “I mean, wouldn't you think that would make the sex way more intense? If you could pick up on what the other is feeling or whatever?”

“Valygar!”

“I'm sorry, I don't usually drink this much, and this is fascinating information.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, it doesn't matter anyway.”

“I guess so. Man, Sarevok can be a little dense. Why care about power when you can do _that_.”

“I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks that. Wait, even if he wasn't power hungry it still wouldn't matter, remember? I said I was done.”

“Oh, right. Well, you _both_ can be a little dense, then. Ow!”

Ilyrana hoped Valygar was done with the teasing or her elbow would be sore in the morning.

“Can I ask you something now?” Ilyrana inquired after a while.

“You know you can ask me anything.”

“How come you and I never got together?”

It was a bold question. One she would have never even contemplated if she were sober. Or if she wasn't feeling self-conscious because of her crappy track record with men.

It was obvious that question blind-sided Valygar, because he gave her a stunned look, before gazing away in thought.

“Several reasons, I think,” he said after a moment. “When I joined up with you, you seemed… well, unattainable. And not just because there was obviously something there with Yoshimo. You're the daughter of a god, and while that doesn't frighten me, it does put you in a league of your own. As time went on, and especially after you helped me kill Lavok, I came to value your friendship too much to risk jeopardizing it in any way. And… well, as you know, my bloodline is cursed. I plan on having it die with me. I won't father any children. You deserve choices, and I can't give you that.”

Valygar's total honesty left her floored. He hadn't looked at her while he spoke, just studied his tankard, and even after he finished he kept his gaze averted.

Her heart ached a little. While she understood his reasons, and was pleased he cared about their friendship as much as she did, his last reason stung. She could have told him that it didn't matter, but she didn't want him to think she was insisting on anything.

Him not wanting to father children was moot.

Because she was barren.

Ilyrana, Minsc, Jaheira, and Yoshimo had entered the Government District of Athkatla just days after escaping Irenicus. She had been rabid to obtain any information on the Cowled Wizards, anything that could help her find Imoen. As they'd approached the Council of Six building, shouts could be heard from nearby, growing in number and hysteria.

When they went to investigate, they were shocked to find Viconia tied to a stake, about to be burned alive by a rabble of terrified locals. Without thinking, she’d lunged toward the other woman, scrambled up the makeshift pyre, and cut her loose.

Some of the townsfolk lost their courage once the drow was no longer bound, while others attacked, furious that their prejudice couldn't be slaked. Ilyrana and the others had made short work of them.

Viconia was thankful to be rescued yet again by Rana, and had asked to come along. While the sight of a familiar face in the foreign city had been a welcome one, and the addition of a skilled cleric was most helpful, Rana had had another reason to accept the woman back into her party.

She wanted to know if she was pregnant.

If that bastard, Irenicus, had gotten her with child.

She could have gone to any number of temples and gotten looked at by the priests and priestesses there, but she wanted the comfort of someone she knew. Someone who would keep secret what Rana would reveal to them. Someone who wouldn't judge her for any choices she may have had to make.

After examining her, Viconia had been uncharacteristically gentle as she explained to Rana that, thankfully, the rapes hadn't resulted in a child. Unfortunately, however, the vivisections had made it impossible for her to ever conceive. Troll’s blood couldn't always regenerate things back to the condition they were in before.

Rana would never be able to have children.

She'd never once thought about being a mother before that. She was still so very young herself, and had far too many problems to even entertain the thought of bringing a child into the world. But knowing that door was permanently closed to her, before she'd even had the time to appreciate its existence, had been devastating.

“Besides,” Valygar added, finally looking at her with a small smile. “If I tried to pursue you now, Sarevok would gut me.”

“I highly doubt he'd care enough to bother.”

“I wouldn't be so sure. We talked a bit this morning, and while it was before you told him you didn't want to be with him, he sounded pretty territorial. Especially in regards to Anomen.”

“Anomen? Seriously?”

“Well, the knight has made no secret of his intentions. And his attempts to flex his pseudo-heroism muscle in your direction at any given opportunity-”

Ilyrana burst out laughing.

“His _what_?”

“You know what I'm talking about. Anomen is the very definition of 'puppy love'. Though Sarevok seems to think it's more sinister than that. I'm still on the fence about the seriousness of his obsession.”

“Wait. Slow down. Sarevok thinks Anomen's a danger to me?”

“Yes. At first, I thought he was just making up reasons to want the man dead, but if I'm being honest, Anomen supplies more than enough reasons for that every time he opens his mouth. Anyway, the knight does give me a bad feeling whenever he looks at you, but I'm not wholly convinced yet that it's dangerous rather than just creepy.”

Ilyrana went quiet and fiddled with the stem of her wine glass.

“It's partly my fault. Anomen's behavior.”

“The Hell it is,” Valygar practically snarled. “Don't you dare blame yourself for him. You've been more than clear that you aren't interested in him, if he can't get it through his bloated head, then that's his problem.”

“No. You don't understand,” Ilyrana sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “You ready for another secret?”

“Please don't tell me you got drunk and slept with him.”

“No, it isn't anywhere close to that simple.”

Valygar raised an eyebrow at that. Ordering them another round, he gave her his word he'd keep this next secret, too.

“Okay. Do you remember when Keldorn found out about Maria's affair with another man?”

“Of course. I felt terrible for him.”

“Me too. Which is why I gave him, and the rest of you, a week off. To see to any family or personal business that you may have been neglecting in order to help me.”

“I remember. I had gone back to my cabin in Windspear for awhile.”

“Right. Well, about a day after everyone had left, I got an urgent message from Anomen's sister, Moira. Apparently, Anomen had decided to visit her during his time off, and when he got home, he discovered that their father, Cor, had started beating her during his drunken rages.”

“Oh gods. I knew there was a reason I hated that man. When we had stopped by his estate that time to investigate that supposed break in, I knew there was something off about him, and not just that he was an alcoholic asshole.”

Cor Delryn, Anomen's father, had requested Anomen come look into the matter of someone breaking into their estate and robbing him of what remained of his fortune. He had accused his former business rival, Saerk Farrahd, but the whole thing was very suspicious. Eventually, they discovered that Cor had squandered his money gambling and drinking. Anomen, with disgust, had given him what gold he had earned during his time with Ilyrana, in order to keep their home and put food on the table. Gold that had probably been pissed away immediately after they left.

“Well, upon seeing the bruises on Moira's face, Anomen flew into a rage and attacked his father. And killed him.”

“ _What_?!”

“When he saw what he'd done, he broke down. There was no way the Order would let him join their ranks as a knight when they found out he'd murdered his own father out of vengeance. He thought his dreams were over. Moira was terrified he would do something stupid, so she sent me a message, begging for help. When I got there, and found out everything that happened… I knew he was right about what the Order would say. That they would tell him he should have turned his father in. Have him face justice. That it was murder and against the law. Well, the law and I don't always see eye to eye.”

“Shit, Rana, what did you do?”

“I had Anomen help me drag his father's body to a nearby alley. I then took what very little gold he had in his pockets, and every piece of jewelry on his body. Then I cut his throat. The next morning, the guards found him, and because of the guild war going on between the Shadow Thieves and Bodhi, they decided that Cor was probably mugged and killed. Case closed.”

Valygar looked at her in horror. She ignored it. He hadn't seen how disfigured Moira had been. The black and yellow bruises. One eye swollen completely shut. Ilyrana knew all too well what that felt like. The helplessness. She couldn't blame Anomen one bit for killing that bastard, by accident or not. And to this day she did not regret covering up his death.

“It says a lot that neither Anomen nor Moira miss the man. The situation, and it's implications, are what scared and sickened them, but not the loss. A few months later, when the Order summoned Anomen to the Hall to undergo his trials to determine if he could become a knight, I reassured him everything was going to be okay. He deserved this. His father wouldn't ruin yet another thing in his life. I had seen to it.”

“Anomen passed the test. He's a Knight of the Radiant Heart,” Valygar all but whispered.

“Yes,” Ilyrana replied, pinning him with a look that was fierce, defiant, and triumphant all at once. “I know he's pompous. And annoying. And full of himself. And a Glory Hound. _But his sister is alive and his dream got to come true_. Don't you dare ask me to apologize or feel guilty for that.”

“‘His sister is alive and his dream got to come true.' Rana, sweetheart, did it ever even occur to you that you might have been projecting yourself and Imoen, as well as your situation, onto Anomen and Moira?”

Ilyrana stared at Valygar. The hand wrapped around her wineglass shook.

“Maybe,” she eventually whispered. “But I don't care. What's done is done. I lose no sleep at night over men like Cor Delryn.”

Valygar rubbed a hand over his face, then gulped down another round of ale.

“You and I once talked extensively about my conflicted feelings over my uncle, Lavok. You helped me in so many ways that I feel like I can never truly repay you. I can't say I agree with what you did, that it was in any way right, but the fact that you did it actually doesn't surprise me. You'd do anything for us. All of us.”

“Of course I would. You're the only real family I have.”

The ranger leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head.

“None of this explains how you're at fault for Anomen being creepy, though.”

“After the trial, Anomen was so relieved he'd passed, that he temporarily forgot about everything with his father. He thanked me for my help and my support. Then he confessed his love. I had to stop him there. He didn't understand, as you do, that travelling with me, and helping me, means there's little I won't do to return the favor. He confused my sympathy and willingness to break the law with affection. I turned him down as gently as I could. He didn't like it, but he accepted it. I think watching Yoshimo and I become involved not long after that struck a nerve. After we found out about Yoshi’s betrayal, he approached me again, and I turned him down again.”

“And he still hasn't given up,” Valygar finished. “Well, this certainly explains a lot. I'm also more inclined now to think Sarevok may be right.”

“What? Why?”

“Rana, Anomen thinks you hung the moon, and created the stars, and puppies, and everything good and pretty in this world. He also thinks you're another poor soul he can ride in and save. Except that you're not. And he can't save you, only you can do that. And you're not going to shower him with the praise and attention he craves. He's going to realize that one day. And he's going to remember that you broke the very laws he vowed to uphold in order to allow him to _make those vows._ ”

“From where I'm standing, Anomen realizing his self-delusions is all to the good.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I'm glad you told me all of this, Rana. Not just about Anomen, but everything with Sarevok, too.”

“Me too. It… it feels good, kind of, to get it all off my chest. Thank you for listening.”

“Anytime. Now, after telling me all of this, I have to ask, and I want an honest answer. If Sarevok let's go of his obsession with power, if that's even a thing that's possible, and wants you for _you_ , what are you gonna do?”

“Valygar, even before I found out about that I had already made up my mind-”

“No. Stop worrying about what Imoen will think, or Jaheira, or Anomen, or anyone else. Stop telling yourself not to want what they wouldn't want you to want. What do _you_ want?”

Ilyrana closed her eyes and sighed. She knew the answer. Had known it since the sparring match. No, before that. Long before that.

“I want to know,” she whispered. “I want to know what we would have been if Gorion hadn't taken me away and made me forget him. I want to know if it's even possible to have anything close to what we had as children. I want to know why we can't stay out of each other's lives.”

“Then, if Sarevok manages to pull his head out of his ass, I think you should try and find out. For closure, if nothing else.”

Ilyrana opened her mouth to reply but he continued.

“I don't like fighting with Jaheira about this, but I will continue to do it while I feel she's wrong. I'm also going to keep a closer eye on Anomen, and you can't stop me so don't even try. With all of that said, I want you to promise me something.”

Ilyrana narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Promise you what?”

“Don't settle for less than you deserve. If Sarevok can't give up his lust for power, then please just let him go. And if he can, don't let anyone tell you it's wrong to try and find happiness with him. Like I said earlier, you're the daughter of a god, that puts you in a totally different league from the rest of us. Except for him. Maybe he's the only one who can understand what it is you go through on a daily basis. With the taint. Promise me you won't settle for anything other than what _you_ want and what _you_ think is best for _you_.”

“I promise,” she whispered.

“Good. Now, don't be alarmed, but it's almost night outside and I have to piss like you wouldn't believe."

“Oh my fuck! I'm surprised no one's sent out search parties yet,” Ilyrana yelped and slid off the bar stool… and almost kept sliding all the way to the floor.

Valygar caught her then leaned heavily against the bar so as not to dump them both onto the ground.

“Okay, we got this. How far to home?”

“Um. Like a mile.”

“Okay, we might not got this. Crap. Well, let me pay the tab and go to the men's room and we'll take this one step at a time.”

Ilyrana whimpered, but bravely grabbed onto the bar to steady herself.

“Gods, how much did we drink?!”

“That'll be one hundred and sixteen gold,” Samuel answered.

“One hundred and sixteen gold’s worth,” Valygar whispered in disbelief as he slapped a bag of coins onto the bar.

Ilyrana was thankful it appeared to be a slow night at the bar, as there were only a few patrons present to watch her and Valygar’s drunken stumble of shame out of the place.

About two hours later, Rana and Valygar stood on the slightly overgrown lawn in front of the estate. Leaning against one another and breathing heavily after their harrowing journey, both of them sporting a few scrapes and bruises when they tripped over each other and fell during their walk here, they looked around at the giant oak trees that surrounded the gray stone exterior of the place they would be living at for the foreseeable future. It looked ominous in the dark. She felt at home already.

The double doors were locked. Propping herself against the rich dark wood, and trying not to get distracted by the way the starlight glinted off the elaborate polished iron brackets, she began fumbling in her bag for the key.

Ten minutes later, Valygar suggested they try knocking instead.

After two knocks, the doors swung open so suddenly that both rangers toppled onto whichever poor soul had been standing there.

“Hey, we're home!” Ilyrana warbled cheerfully as she swatted Haer’Dalis's hair out of her mouth.

“Sorry, HD. Didn't expect the door to open that fast.”

“Not to worry. I don't need my tailbone,” the bard grumbled crankily as he tried to extricate himself from the pile of limbs.

“Rana?! Oh my gods, where have you been? And why are you on the floor?”

Imoen came running to them and began trying to help pull her sister up.

“Heya, sis. We may have stopped to have a drink or two,” Ilyrana couldn't continue because she started to laugh at her own joke.

“Yeah. A drink or two. I totally believe that.”

“Rana drank me out of a hundred and sixteen gold.”

“You liar! You drank some of that, too!”

“How did the two of you manage to drink that much?!”

“With our mouths.”

“Your intelligence is staggering at times, bufflehead. Okay, up you go, let's get you to bed before you try and fall asleep on my tiefling.”

“But he's so warm! Wait… _your_ tiefling?”

“Called it!” Valygar shouted triumphantly before snuggling into the tiefling in question’s leg.

“Unhand me!”

“Yeah, he belongs to Immy now, Val. Leggo of him.”

“What is all this racket?” Jaheira demanded as she appeared out of nowhere.

Ilyrana hiccuped in reply.

“WE FOUND YOU!” Valygar bellowed at the druid.

“By Silvanus, how much have they had?”

“One hundred and sixteen gold’s worth of alcohol,” Imoen sniggered as she wrapped an arm around Ilyrana's torso and began shuffling her to the stairs that led to the second story.

“Viconia has been out looking for you, I'll go bring her back,” Jaheira said, shaking her head in disapproval.

“You’ve had us all worried,” Keldorn intoned from somewhere out of Ilyrana's line of sight.

“Is Keldorn here somewhere, or am I hallucinating?” Ilyrana whispered loudly at her sister.

“I'll help the bard with Valygar, he's a lot bigger than Rana is and he's listing quite a bit more,” the paladin said with a sigh that didn't quite hide his amusement.

“Okay, I got Rana, she doesn't weigh much anyway,” Imoen replied and together they began working their way to the stairs.

“If I puke on you, I'm sorry and I love you.”

“Don't you dare!”

“Okay.”

They stopped at the foot of the stairs, both of them wincing at the sound of a loud crash behind them followed by what sounded suspiciously like Valygar giggling. Ilyrana craned her neck back as she tried to imagine walking up what looked like a mountain of dark wood steps. She nearly fell back onto her bottom.

“Okay, sis, one step at a time.”

Ilyrana sighed.

“S’what Valygar said, too.”

Two false starts and three steps up, Imoen leaned against the railing, panting, while Rana tried to curl up at her feet.

“Stay here, I'm gonna go find reinforcements.”

“Okay. Nighty night. Bed bugs and all that.”

“No, don't fall asleep! Just wait a minute!” Imoen huffed in exasperation before disappearing.

After what felt like only a few seconds, Ilyrana was effortlessly lifted off the stairs and into muscled arms. Snuggling into a warm chest, she regained some consciousness at the sound of an unfamiliar chuckle.

“Whasofunny?”

“You. This is pathetic,” Sarevok replied, still laughing.

“You’re pathetic,” she shot back, before nuzzling his neck. “You smell good. Asshole.”

She felt him tense and briefly hesitate on his way up the stairs when her lips brushed his skin.

“You're making this harder than it needs to be, little one,” he hissed at her.

If she were sober, she would have heard the undercurrent in his voice, telling her he was talking about _them_. But she wasn't sober.

“What am I making hard?” She asked suggestively.

Sarevok sighed.

Pushing open the door to her bedroom with his shoulder, he carried her to her bed and dropped her unceremoniously onto it. She yelped when she almost bounced onto the floor, then immediately began trying to curl up and drift off to sleep. She thought she heard him sigh again. Hands pulled at her boots until they fell to the ground.

Shifting her over, Sarevok sat down on the bed and pulled the sheets back; and once she wiggled into a comfortable enough position, drew them over her.

“Why can't you be like this all the time?” She asked drowsily, eyes closed.

“Then you wouldn't appreciate it as much as you do when I'm rarely like this.”

“That's the lamest thing I've heard in awhile.”

“Go to sleep, Rana.”

She felt his weight leave her bed and she couldn't stop herself from reaching for him. She wanted that warmth back.

He froze when her hand touched his arm.

“You remember, when we were little, you used to rock me to sleep? I miss that. I miss you,” Rana whispered, referring to Sarevok the boy, not Sarevok the man.

He didn't answer her. Instead, she felt her hair being brushed away from her face and tucked behind her pointed ear. Felt his thumb brush across her cheekbone. In her half-asleep state, she was unable to resist from leaning into his touch. She thought she heard what sounded like a growl of frustration.

As she drifted off into deep sleep, the last thing she remembered was his lips brushing her cheek.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, drunken Rana and Valygar are adorable.


	16. Death by a Thousand Cuts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hit a wall while trying to write this chapter. Repeatedly. There's a bunch of stuff I want to get to, but no idea what order to put most of it in, and I don't want to shoot myself in the foot without realizing it until it's much too late. 
> 
> Anyway, somehow I finished it with almost 9k words, the most so far I think, and much like the previous one, this one has a LOT of information. So at least I have something to show for all the hair pulling I did to eek out each word.

_They witnessed her destruction,_

_Then were left to wonder why,_

_She saw nothing but darkness,_

_Though the stars shone in her eyes,_

_But maybe they'd forgotten,_

_When they failed to see the cracks,_

_That a star’s light shines the brightest,_

_When it's starting to collapse_

_~e.h._

  


_Sarevok_

 

Sarevok watched the priest’s hands clench and unclench in barely restrained fury, glaring at the ranger sitting on the other end of the dining table. His own hand was curled loosely around the amber and jet hilt of the dagger at his belt as he reclined in his chair, all but praying the Helmite acted on his rage.

“Tell me, Valygar, did you enjoy your time with her last night? Having her all to yourself?”

“Uh, what? Who?”

“ _Ilyrana,_ you drunkard!”

“There's no need to shout,” Valygar sighed, rubbing his head and wincing. “And yes, I quite enjoyed her company and my time away from the likes of you. Though, I hardly think it fair to apply the label of drunkard after one night of overindulgence.”

Anomen shook with the obvious effort it took to control his anger. Sarevok slowly began leaning forward, ready to cut the man's throat if he tried to advance on the ranger.

“ _Overindulgence?_ And what _else_ did you _indulge_ in?”

Valygar's eyes darkened as he realized what the other man was insinuating.

“I don't feel good, so I’m going to pretend you didn't just imply that I took liberties with our leader while she was intoxicated. Were I you, Anomen, I would walk away right now. This hangover won't last forever.”

“Are you threatening me, Corthala?”

“And if I am? Are you going to attack me? While I sit here, unarmed?”

Valygar's eyes flicked to Sarevok, who was seated behind where Anomen stood. The Helmite glanced over his shoulder, noted the Deathbringer's grip on his knife, and the way his eyes had begun to glow in anticipation.

“This doesn't concern you, abomination. You've no right to interfere.”

“I don't care if it doesn't concern me. I'm just hoping you'll prove how utterly foolish you really are by attacking the ranger. It'll be the perfect excuse to rip you apart, and Rana can't even be angry with me, considering how much she cares for him. Though, I think we all know she wouldn't be too upset that I finally silenced your constant pathetic whining.”

Sarevok watched the truth of his words hit home, before Anomen could cover it up. At least the fool knew she didn't care about him, that his delusions didn't extend _that_ far, yet.

“Don’t think I don't know the _real_ reason you wish to fight me. Don't think I haven't seen _your_ eyes upon her, as well!”

“Are you going to go around threatening _every_ man who looks at her, knight? I would think the very idea of that would be exhausting.”

“Then you don't deny it?” Anomen snarled, turning to fully face Sarevok.

“Deny what? Looking at her? No, churl, I do not deny it. I'm many things, but I'm still a man, and she _is_ divinely wrought,” Sarevok replied, watching with amusement as Anomen's fists began to clench again at his words.

“She's your _sister,”_ he spat.

“That doesn't make her any less desirable.”

Just as Anomen’s fury began to cloud what very little remained of his already inadequate judgment, Keldorn stepped into the dining room and pinned them all with an impressive scowl. Thus ending Sarevok's almost successful attempts to bait the priest.

“What's going on here?”

“This doesn't concern you either, Keldorn.”

Sarevok and Valygar exchanged a look of mild surprise. As venomous as Anomen often was, he curbed it quite a bit when speaking to the older paladin.

“As your superior, _Sir_ Anomen, you will address me with a little more respect, and yes, the tension in this room does concern me.”

“I was merely trying to figure out what possessed Valygar to keep Ilyrana at a bar all day and into the night. Especially without sending word of their whereabouts.”

“Well, seeing as how our Ilyrana is a grown woman, she can do whatever she pleases. Though, yes, it would have been nice to know where they were so we wouldn't have had to worry unnecessarily.”

Anomen ground his teeth, obviously dissatisfied with the man's reasonable tone and logic. Having no rational response, he bowed his head to him, though it was obvious it annoyed him to do so.

“As you say, Sir Keldorn,” Anomen said, then turned on his heel and left the room.

Keldorn turned to the other two men, noting how Sarevok's hand had been around his dagger, and that Valygar had appeared to be reaching for his boot knife.

“Alright, now tell me what this was _really_ about.”

“What do you think? Anomen's madness just shot up another degree. He practically accused me of trying to take advantage of Rana last night when we were out having drinks and lost track of the time.”

“' _Practically_ ’ nothing, ranger. The idiot was working himself into a jealous frenzy, and he reeked of drink far worse than you do. I can only assume he's begun drinking whiskey in place of coffee in the mornings now.”

Keldorn sighed, his eyes softening as he listened to them. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, he joined them at the table.

“Ever since I began following Ilyrana I've kept an eye on him, if only because he was an aspiring knight and needed my guidance. After his ceremony, it appeared the trials had humbled him somewhat, and that he would make a fine addition to our Order. Over the past year and a half or more, and especially here lately, he seems to be backsliding into the very behavior I once had concerns about.”

“You mean the hot headedness? That he wants the glory that comes along with doing heroic deeds but cares not a whit about the people he helps? That he thinks Rana is his in some way? Don't get me wrong, I'm protective of her, too, we all are in our own ways, but none of the rest of us lose our cool every time she converses with another man. Nor do we go around threatening each other when she spends more time with one of us. I'm honestly surprised he hasn't verbally laid into Imoen yet for being her closest friend, and for sharing a room with her the night before!”

Keldorn looked completely taken aback by the ranger's outburst. Not surprising, when Valygar was perhaps the most level-headed one here, and the man appeared to be seething.

“I gives me great pleasure to say _I told you so_ ,” Sarevok snarled.

“You did. You were right about him. This pretty much proves it.”

“Right about what? Is this a bigger problem than I previously thought it to be? And if so, why is it only just now being brought to my attention?”

“It's been a little chaotic lately, Keldorn,” Valygar replied, then took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. “Ugh, now it's gone cold.”

As Valygar went to get himself a fresh cup, Sarevok began voicing his opinions about the knight.

“He's unstable, paladin, this much was obvious to me within hours of first meeting him. And it's only growing worse. It's not just possessive behavior in regards to the girl, he's clearly _obsessed_ and becoming increasingly violent where she's concerned. The ranger and I spoke of this yesterday, and this only confirms it.”

“Sarevok's right. It's only a matter of time before Anomen has too much to drink, sees Rana breathe in the direction of another man, and snaps. At least when _she_ gets drunk, you just have to worry about her curling up and falling asleep in inconvenient places. _Not_ going on a homicidal rampage. Unless you count the Slayer, but alcohol seems to dampen her more violent urges.”

Keldorn listened to them, his face growing grim.

“And what does Ilyrana herself have to say about all this?”

“She…” Valygar paused, seeming to be careful in choosing his words. “She's made it very clear to him on more than one occasion that she does not reciprocate his affections. I believe she puts too much faith in his knighthood to really consider his behavior potentially dangerous to herself or us.”

Sarevok narrowed his eyes at the man. It was obvious he was withholding something. Perhaps he and the girl had spoken of this last night? Was what he was saying the truth? Was Rana so naive she couldn't see Anomen's downward spiral? Or did she just _refuse_ to see it for some reason?

“I see,” the paladin replied wearily. “After losing Mazzy and the others just days ago, I'd hate to send Anomen away when we're already so short in number. Still, if what you say is true, then it may be a bigger risk yet to allow him to stay. As leader, it should ultimately be Rana's call to make, but as _his_ commanding officer, I cannot sit idly by while he issues threats and poses a danger to others. I will think on what to do, and pray Torm will guide me to make the right decision.”

Before either of them could reply, Rana shuffled into the dining room. Her damp hair was piled into a lopsided bun on top of her head and she wore a too large white long sleeve shirt that fell to mid thigh over frayed black leggings. She stopped when she saw the three of them, narrowed her eyes into a sleepy glare, then padded over to the long counter against the wall where the pot of coffee sat.

“Good morning, Rana,” Keldorn and Valygar said.

She grunted in reply.

“Um, Rana, is that my shirt?” Keldorn asked.

Another grunt.

“Are _you_ the one responsible for nearly all my shirts going missing?”

“Now that you mention it, I'm missing a few as well,” Valygar added.

Silence, except for the sound of stirring as she added liberal quantities of cream and sugar to her cup.

“Rana? Would you like to explain why you're wearing my shirt,” Keldorn asked, aiming for sternness but falling way short of it.

“No.”

Sarevok rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to hide his amusement at her irritable, defensive tone.

“What are you going to do, demand she take it off and return it?” He drawled.

Keldorn cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable at the suggestion and shooting a reproachful look at him.

“Of course not, but I would like it back when she's done wearing it. Along with any others she may have stolen.”

“Borrowed,” Rana corrected as she shuffled to the table and took the chair between him and the paladin.

“It's only borrowing when you plan on returning it in a timely manner, and don't try and lie and say you were going to do that,” Valygar replied.

“Mmkay.”

The two men huffed in unison at her, which earned them a small, sleepy smirk over the rim of her mug.

“I was going to speak with you this morning, but I’m already late for an interview with two people for service positions, if you're in agreement.”

“Sure,” Rana replied, eyes closed as she savored her likely too sweet coffee milk.

“Alright, I shall speak to you upon my return. I should be back by noon, hopefully with servants in tow,” Keldorn said and rose to depart.

Rana watched him leave with half lidded eyes, clearly still not completely awake yet.

“Seriously, though, I need my shirts back, I don't have hardly any left, and I'm a little short on gold for _some_ reason,” Valygar said after the old man had left.

She huffed, sipped more coffee, then folded her legs beneath her in the chair and yawned before replying.

“Fine. I need to go through my bag anyway. _If_ I find your shirts, I'll give them to you.”

“ _And_ not steal them right back again?”

“Ugh. You're grumpy this morning.”

“Waking up feeling like I've been trampled by a herd of cattle then being threatened by a raving lunatic will do that.”

Ilyrana looked quizzically at Sarevok.

“Not this raving lunatic,” Sarevok clarified, making her lips twitch, almost into a smile. “The _knight.”_

She frowned, gulped down more caffeine, and turned back to Valygar. A look passed between them, all but verifying they'd spoken of him recently.

“What happened?”

“He tried to accuse me of ungentlemanly behavior towards you last night.”

“Huh. Well, if that were the case, you're terrible in bed ‘cause I don't remember a thing.”

Both men choked on their coffee. Unperturbed, she rose to make herself another cup.

“Gods, Rana, must you make a joke of everything?”

“I must,” she sighed dramatically, her back to them as she reassembled her ingredients.

“Anyway, before you came in here, we were  discussing-”

Valygar's voice died away as Jaheira walked in and stopped when she saw him. Rana looked at her, then at Valygar, loudly stirred her coffee, then looked back at Jaheira.

“Valygar, may I have a word with you?” The druid asked, almost shyly.

Sarevok exchanged a look with Rana as they watched the ranger quickly get to his feet and go to follow her. Jaheira glanced at Rana, then averted her eyes, which made Rana raise an eyebrow and look at Valygar as he walked past, eyes fixed on the other woman and a blush spreading across his face.

“Huh.” Rana said in amusement, tasting her coffee, then turning back to add more sugar.

All thoughts of Anomen, the ranger, the druid, all of them left his mind as he realized they were alone. Rising from his chair he went to stand behind her, reaching around her for the coffee pot. She froze mid-stir as she felt how near he was. Seeing as how she hadn't bolted, he refilled his cup, then put both it and the pot down, before placing his hands atop the counter on either side of her. Trapping her.

“What are you doing?” She whispered.

Leaning forward, he lowered his head until his lips hovered just above the back of her neck, which was enticingly bare to him with her hair out of the way. She shivered when she felt his breath against her skin.

“I've been thinking, little one,” he whispered back, lips just barely brushing her skin as he spoke. “About you and I.”

When she took a breath to reply, he laid an open mouthed kiss on the top of her spine, just above the uppermost X scar. A soft moan escaped her, spurring him to nip at the back of her neck. He felt her slowly settle her weight back against him, and he couldn't stop his hands from encircling her hips, holding her there.

“There is no ‘you and I’, _brother_ ,” she murmured, obviously throwing that word at him as some kind of last ditch effort to dissuade him, as if it weren't far too late for that; as if that even mattered anymore, or ever at all to begin with.

“There has always been a ‘you and I’, dear sister,” he replied, exploring the pale slope of her neck, pleased that she unknowingly leaned her head to the side, allowing him better access. “In one form or another, we have always been bound to each other.”

“Sarevok, we can't do this,” her voice coming out hoarse and pleading, in direct contrast to her words, as his hands slipped beneath the hem of her shirt to trace the jagged scar on her side.

“We're half _god_ , pet, we can do whatever we please,” he told her, fingers teasing higher towards her breasts.

“Except that's not enough for you,” she hissed back, trying to muster the willpower to push him away. “You want me to become something I don't want to be just to satisfy your need for power.”

“Rana, right now, all I want,” his hands drifted back down to her waist to turn her to face him. “Is to taste you again.”

Before she could protest, he took her mouth with his, swallowing whatever she was going to say. Her hands went to his chest, but she didn't push him away, neither did she melt against him like before. His hands slipped back beneath her shirt, caressing her lower back. A pleased growl rumbled in his chest when he felt her give up her stubborn resistance, yielding to him with one of her maddening little moans. She went up on her toes, arching up to him, her arms wrapping around his neck as he pulled her tightly against his chest and deepened the kiss.

This was burning out of his control yet again. He’d meant to tease her, fuel her desire until she could no longer resist him. So she would be open to see reason. But once more he was drowning in her, finding it difficult to think beyond the softness of her skin and how damnably little of it he had mapped out beneath his palms. He needed her closer. Wanted to hear her cry out his name as she did the night in the woods.

Lifting her onto the counter, he wedged his hips between her thighs, snarling into her mouth when her legs wrapped around him and he could feel the heat of her against him, unable to stop from yanking her closer still. Reaching up, he slid the pins out of her hair so that that heavy mane fell free down her back, allowing him to thread his fingers through it.

Even as he tried to recall the layout of this place, to think of a nearby room that would be unoccupied at this hour, reality tapped him on the shoulder and reminded him of what was at stake. He'd started this, and gods he wanted to finish it, but he needed to stop them before someone walked in. He knew if they were caught she'd never risk this again.

Summoning up every ounce of willpower he possessed, he slowed the kiss, turning it from desperate to languid. When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing a little unevenly, and he was finding it difficult to let go of her and step away. The way she looked up at him, eyes shifting between amber and honeyed gold in color, could almost make him forget why he was surrendering her right now. What his end goal was.

As if reading his thoughts, which Hell, she may very well be doing, she unwrapped her legs from around his waist then slid her hands down from the back of his neck to his chest, pushing against him to get him to back away and let her down.

“This shouldn't keep happening. We can't do this.”

“Your body says otherwise.”

She shot him a glare as she snatched up her cup of coffee and backed away, either because she wanted to put some distance between them or because she was tired of craning her neck up to speak to him.

“Animal magnetism doesn't equate to good sense. You've made your intentions clear, as I've made mine.”

“As I was trying to say before I got… distracted, I've been thinking about our previous conversation. I didn't intend to start badgering you about your destiny. It was a discussion I had planned to have in a very different setting.”

“You mean after you'd seduced me, while I was struggling with the warm and fuzzies. Your ego _really_ needs to be cut down some if you think you're good enough to actually make me consider godhood.”

“Careful, little one, that almost sounded like a challenge,” he purred, unable to stop from smirking when he saw her reflexively reach for the dagger she liked to fidget with and that wasn't there; her nervous tell.

“I’m not wrong, though, am I? You want to share in the power I'll possess as a goddess. I don't want to become one. So we have nothing more to say to each other. And I don't like you ambushing me to try and wear me down.”

“I would be more inclined to believe that if you actually sounded sincere. And if you didn't have as hard a time keeping your hands off me as I do you.”

“Just because my body wants yours doesn't mean I have no compunctions about bartering with it. Besides, I would have an easier time of it if you kept _your_ hands to yourself.”

Sarevok was surprised to find he actually enjoyed this back and forth with her, even though his patience for her pigheadedness was wearing thin. And contrary to her words, if she really didn't want this, she wouldn't still be standing here trying to convince him of it.

“Then tell me to go, Rana. Right now. Tell me I'm dismissed from your company and you want me gone. Threaten to kill me if I ever come near you again,” he took a step toward her, noting the flicker of distress in her eyes as she realized he was calling her bluff.

“What would be the point? You do what you want, you always have. I can't make you leave.”

“That's the lamest thing I've heard in awhile,” he mocked, throwing her words from last night back at her.

“Fine,” she snarled. “You're dismissed! I want you gone before sunset; if you're not, we'll see how long you last against all of us combined. And if you come back, the Slayer will be waiting.”

“Sunset? Why not now?” He asked, taking another step closer, so that her back hit the edge of the table when she automatically tried to maintain the distance between them. “If you don't want this between us, then just say so. And don't tell me you _shouldn't_ want this. Tell me you _don't.”_

“If I say it will you leave me alone?”

“Unlikely, because you obviously _can't_ say it, and even if you parrot the words, they'll ring hollow. But, by all means, _convince me.”_

“ _Fuck you_.”

“ _Soon.”_

“Hey, sis… you okay?”

Imoen appeared in the doorway, and he wanted to break something. It was infuriating to constantly be interrupted by one of her minions. _Especially_ the brat, who was already a big enough obstacle in his path to power without her being underfoot. The urge to roar at her to go annoy the bard and leave them the Hell alone was almost too strong to resist. The damned girl was too much like her sister, though, to hope that would actually work. She'd likely do the exact opposite and start following him around everywhere, which made his head throb at just the thought of her incessant chirping.

“I'm fine. I was just grabbing some coffee,” Rana replied, holding up her cup, before lowering her voice so only he could hear her. “We're done here.”

“For now.”

She left the dining room, with Imoen following her after giving him another one of those piercing stares.

Imoen knew. Or at least suspected. He hoped he wouldn't have to do anything about that.

Ideally, Rana would give up this tiresome resistance as well as assert her dominance over the riffraff. The mageling may have grown in power, thanks to her magic and late blooming bhaalspawn abilities, but she lacked the maturity, and willingness to get her hands dirty, to actually challenge her older sister’s authority. If Rana brought Imoen to heel, and cut the Harper and Helmite loose, preferably in a bloody fashion, then he truly believed he could attain what he desired. First, Rana. Then, he could spend the rest of this war persuading her that Ascension was the wisest choice for her. For _them._ Once she was his, he looked forward to coaxing her affections to the point where she could deny him nothing.

Remembering the vulnerability in Rana's voice last night, he knew his plan was sound. If he could be patient.

Remembering the flirtiness, as well, only reinforced the knowledge that she was affected by all of this just as strongly as he was.

Again, though, he needed to be patient.

Even if his temperament was rapidly worsening thanks to the restless nights he was reduced to, as thoughts of her bled into dreams that left him on the cusp of violence if he didn't claim her soon.

He would be patient.

 _He. Would. Be. Patient_.

* * *

 

_Ilyrana_

 

“I don't like how close you let him get to you. Or the way he was looking at you.”

“I'm tired, Im, and still a little drunk from last night I think, I wasn't paying attention.”

“Which is dangerous! Do we need to post a guard or something?”

“Don't be ridiculous. Besides, if he was going to attack me, he had way better opportunity on the way here, when it was just us and Viconia, and while I was completely tapped out from using the Slayer.”

“I guess so… it's just, well, seeing the two of you that close, it really brings it into perspective. The size difference, I mean. Have you always been this small? I mean, I know he's like six and a half feet tall, but I think you're shrinking. How'd you ever stab him with those short little arms?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. I'm not _that_ much smaller than you are. Anyway, the closer I let him get, the easier it is to reach his weak spots, so stop worrying so much. You're turning into Jaheira.”

“That's a cheap shot. I may worry, but I don't nag. At least not at the master level she's capable of.”

“Uh huh. So, are you gonna tell me what you meant by 'my tiefling’, last night?”

Ilyrana was desperate to change the subject. That had been way, way, too close. If Imoen were elven, or even just half, like Jaheira was, she would have overheard part of their conversation before she had even reached the dining room. Just as _she_ had overheard Keldorn talking about dismissing Anomen for whatever reason. Which she assumed he would talk with her about later, so she would worry about it then.

_And gods help me if Imoen had walked in one minute sooner. Hard to pretend I don't want him when she sees me wrapped around the bastard._

Or if she'd seen him tucking her into bed last night. She wondered if Imoen knew he was the one who carried her up the stairs. Or if her sister just assumed she managed it on her own. The thought of her overhearing her drunkenly flirting with him made her cringe.

“Well, um, while you and Valygar were depleting this poor town of it's alcohol stores, he and I might of… um… well, made love.”

Ilyrana stumbled on the steps up to the second floor, grasping the rail to steady herself as she looked wide-eyed at her sister.

“ _Made love?_ I know this wasn't your first time, or his, so I'm a little confused as to why you would use that term.”

“Well, it felt differently from the other times. With other men, I mean. I dunno, I didn't feel like I was just a body being used to get him off. I felt like he was really looking at _me._ Touching _me._  You know?”

Ilyrana almost answered yes. She stopped herself in time, though, from making herself feel like a total idiot.

She had felt that way with Yoshimo. At least, she thought she had. Up until his betrayal, he had made her believe he cared for her. Wanted _her_. Even if their relationship had been rocky, and there was always a sense of wariness about him, the sex had been passionate enough to keep her holding on. Man, she was stupid.

“No,” she eventually replied, trying to hide the pain and the rage. “Can't say I do.”

“We spent half the day in bed, just talking, and cuddling. It was… nice. I never had that before. I never _wanted_ that before. But, now, with him, I do.”

When they reached Ilyrana's bedroom, Imoen flung herself onto the bed, a sappy smile on her face. Ilyrana was happy for her. Just as she envied the joy in her sister's eyes. She _had_ never, and likely _would_ never, have that. Especially with Sarevok. She needed to remember that. Regardless of how much he made her ache for him, how his deep, commanding voice made her legs weak, he would never give her that kind of contentment. She doubted if he was even capable of caring enough about another to _want_ to. If he had _ever_ truly cared about anything other than his ambition.

_He did once… long ago. There was one thing, one person, whom he cared for above all things._

She shook that thought away. What he had been as a child didn't matter. That child was dead. The man was a very different animal. One she needed to stay away from. Far, far away.

“So, whatcha got planned for today?”

“Well, I was thinking of organizing my bag. Could use the help? Or, if you're too lazy, you can just keep me company.”

“Oh… um, Haer'Dalis and I are fixing to head over to the shops. You want us to pick up anything?”

Some kind of uneasy feeling went through her. If she didn't know any better, she would say it was jealousy.

“I don't think so. I need to take inventory before I figure out what I need. But let me know if they have anything rare or interesting. Have fun.”

“Okay! I'll see you later!”

Imoen sprung off the bed, gave her sister a quick, suffocating hug, then bounded out of the room. Ilyrana watched her leave, still staring out the doorway some time after the other girl's departure. Taking a deep breath, she began winding her hair up into another bun, pinning it in place as she went to close, and lock, her door.

The last thing she wanted was another ambush. From anyone. Glancing at a chair that sat at a nearby desk, she briefly played with the idea of propping it under the door handle, as an added measure of defense. She decided against it. For now.

Picking up the small, purple Bag of Holding, she set it on the bed, took another gulp of coffee, then began reaching in and drawing things out one by one. She had a sudden, perverse desire to climb on her bed, take hold of the bag, and uphend it onto the floor. But the image of being stuck in a mountain of crap inside her room, having to shout for someone to come pull her out, kept her from acting on that impulse. There probably wasn't _that_ much stuff in there, but still, best not chance it.

Piles began to form on the dark red sheets of her bed, as well as on the gleaming hardwood floor around her. Sorting out her clothes, Valygar's shirts, and Keldorn's shirts, she tried not to feel too grumpy about parting with them. After all, once they had servants, she wouldn't _need_ to steal theirs because hers would all be kept washed. Still, though, men's shirts were so comfy to sleep in.

Various weapons, some magical, others mundane, made up another pile. Mostly daggers with interesting carvings in the hilt, or jewels she meant to pry loose. A few stray, broken arrows, that she tossed into a separate trash pile. Two full quivers, one of which she hung on the desk chair, the other set aside to return to the bag once it was cleaned out. Her shortbow.

Edwin's necklace, that she gently wrapped in cloth. Her gray wolf's fur blanket. Her bedroll, that was looking pretty torn up, so she made a mental note to look into replacing it at the shops. Her matte black armor, forged from the scales of a shadow dragon she'd slain, which she rarely wore. It was heavier than her regular leather armor, which she just pulled out, and wearing it while using her bow for prolonged periods of time drained her too quickly, turning her arms into jelly. Only when she thought her swords would be better suited for a fight did she draw out this armor beforehand, as it was far harder to pierce, and could withstand more punishment.

Next came her chest of soaps, oils, and lotions. Then, her case of jewelry, most of it kept for it's beauty, or magical properties, though none of it was very rare or valuable. Just bits and baubles she found pleasing to the eye and wanted to keep. Glancing through it, she saw that it must have come open at some point, since none of it was organized anymore. She'd sort that out later.

Pots, pans, eating utensils, bowls, and her favorite coffee mug were scattered randomly throughout, and she put them in their own pile to be washed.

Her ring of keys.

Boots, boots, and more boots. She had her weaknesses. Soft, leather footwear of the elven fashion was one of them.

Some petrified food of questionable origin went into the trash pile, along some old bloody bandages that were brown and flaky with age. No telling how long those had been in there, or even whose blood that was on them.

Her medical kit, complete with catgut stitches, clean bandages, and other such accoutrements.

A sizeable collection of herbs of the medicinal variety, as well as for teas of varying uses, and her poisons, which she also possessed in already extracted liquid form in a dozen or so tiny vials. This was her newest hobby, perhaps. One she had been neglecting out of necessity while on the road.

While she was growing up in Candlekeep, Gorion had gently, but insistently, encouraged her to pursue her skills with the bow. In the beginning, Rana had been more than happy to, as she had found the physical exertion, along with the challenge, to be fun. Especially coupled with the fact that she had a natural talent for it, unsurprising considering she was elven.

Becoming a ranger had been the obvious next step. To study the different animal species that inhabited the Sword Coast. Along with the dangerous humanoid creatures that constantly plagued remote villages and woodland homes. To become emotionally invested in safeguarding the common folk from these threats. She'd even worshipped Mielikki. Though this was also due in part to the fact that Drizzt Do’urden worshipped her as well. And being a young, impressionable girl who aspired to become a ranger, like the famed drow, meant she had emulated him quite a bit.

Over time, however, she began to drift away from all of that, as she came to care less and less about those outside her circle, as well as the duties of a ranger. During her alliance with the Shadow Thieves, she found that worshipping Mask, the God of Shadows, felt right in a way that serving The Forest Queen hadn't. She had always been a bit of a kleptomaniac, enjoying the thrill that came with pulling off a successful heist. Her father's blood, too, seemed more inclined to the deadlier aspects of the rogue. Though the only one who knew about the shift was Yoshimo.

Carefully, she stored the vials in the desk drawer for now. Her herbs, she sorted by use and laid them out on her dresser.

Rifling through the bag once more, she felt a sudden electric current course through her as her fingers brushed against the hilt of a sword. She froze in surprise, having completely forgotten that it had been residing here all this time. Slowly, she dipped her other hand into the cloth to grasp the weapon with both hands, as it was far too heavy to lift with just one.

Straining under it's weight, she dropped it onto the bed and stared at it. It was in its sheath, but still she could practically feel it, as if it possessed a piece of her soul, as well. Reaching out, she clutched the hilt and slowly withdrew it a few inches, revealing the rippling dark steel.

This was the first time she'd touched this sword since she'd bought the bag and transferred most of her belongings into it. That last time, she'd sought out a secluded place, away from the others, and taken a whetstone and cloth to the blade to clean and maintain it. No matter the issues she had with the weapon, and it's master, she'd seen no point in neglecting something that finely wrought. Nor could she ever bring herself to sell it, for reasons she couldn't even begin to fathom.

Slipping it fully back into its sheath, she sat down on the mattress beside it and just looked at it. Absently, she slipped her hand under her shirt and traced part of the scar it had given her, remembering it's master's fingers doing the exact same thing an hour ago.

Gorion's blood had painted that blade at one point. As well as her own.

She still couldn't bring herself to feel repulsed by it.

Taking a deep breath, she hefted the Sword of Chaos once more and slid it beneath her bed. Even though the weapon had been passed to her, from the genie who had been safeguarding it for Irenicus when he stole it, it didn't belong to her. At least, not anymore. Not since she'd brought Sarevok back. By rights, she should return it to him.

She pushed the sword further beneath her bed with her foot.

He can have it back when he's convinced her that he's learned his lesson about the importance of cherishing precious things. Likely, that poor sword would remain under her bed for eternity.

Turning back to her bag, she drew out her bundle of raven feathers that she used for fletching, as well as the tools she used to craft her own arrows. Setting that aside, she reached in once more and grabbed a ring.

Rana furrowed her brow and just sank to the floor this time, crossing her legs to rest her elbows on as she looked at the simple silver ring inlaid with a single black stone. At first glance, it could be called delicate, if plain. Until you touch it and realize it's enchanted with protective magics. Strong ones.

Sarevok had given this ring to her, under the guise of Koveras, just before she confronted Rieltar at Candlekeep. Not long after that fight, she'd found out the identity of the man who gifted it to her and she'd yanked the thing off her finger. She'd been furious at herself for not realizing who he was, and for accepting the ring. She couldn't recall what she'd done with it after that, but she must have held onto it for it to have ended up in her bag of holding.

She didn't know how long she sat there, slowly turning the small circle between her fingers, lost in memories and questions.

Why had he given it to her? _Really_ given it to her, not the excuse he'd used at the time.

A part of her wanted to get up and go ask him, but seeing him again after their encounter in the dining room made her nervous. Not to mention, he'd probably either lie or say something shattering.

Rising to her feet, she placed the ring on the mantle above the fireplace on the opposite end of the room from her bed.

There couldn't be much left in that bag, could there? Couldn't be much else that would exhaust her emotionally.

Lying at the bottom of the purple cloth was her journals, quills, and a jar of ink. Setting the latter on her desk, she ran her fingers over the leather cover of one of her diaries. She hadn't written in ages. Not since… she couldn't remember. She needed to rectify that, but not now. When she began to sort them, five in total, an envelope slipped out from one of them, or from in between two of them, and fell to the floor.

When she bent down to retrieve it, she noticed her name written in unfamiliar handwriting across the front. For some reason, her heart began to pound. Using her fingernail, she broke the wax seal and withdrew a single sheet of parchment paper. Her eyes immediately went to the bottom, to the signature.

Yoshimo.

Her hands began to shake, nearly dropping the letter. She could rip it apart, never seeing what he'd written her. There was no possible good that could come from reading it. Nothing that could remotely help her heal, or forgive him, or anything of the sort. Absolutely zero reasons why she shouldn't destroy it. Her traitorous eyes drifted back up to the top and began to read.

 

_My Rana,_

_As I sit here writing you this letter, you are fast asleep, making those noises that I get elbowed for if I call them ‘snoring’, in the inn here in Brynnlaw. I have much to tell you, even though I will not be able to convey hardly any of it. My curse prevents much, but I will try to explain what I can. This will be my last will and testament. My apology. My goodbye._

_Tomorrow, we leave this rock for Spellhold. Tomorrow night, one, or both of us, will be gone. I pray to Ilmater that it is I, if only so I will not have to live any longer with this pain. You are one of the strongest women I have had the good fortune of meeting. Nay, the strongest person. So, I do not doubt overmuch that you will see the sunrise that will perhaps be the bleakest you have ever witnessed._

_If you are reading this, if you have found my letter among the considerable clutter of your journals, it means you overcame what I could not stop. What I helped set in motion. Just the thought of you holding this parchment, gripped tightly in your delicate hands while you struggle with your beautiful, terrible, wholly justified rage brings me some measure of peace. Because it means you are alive. It is my deepest wish that your fingers are coated in the blood of the one who hurt you, smudging the ink, as well._

_Rana, right now, wherever you are when you eventually find this, however long it's been since our trip to Spellhold tomorrow, I know you hate me with the same fiery fury that you hold for the one who is about to steal something precious from you. If I can convince you of anything in this letter, let it be that you cannot hate me nearly as much as I hate myself._

_My duty did not require me to share your bed. You may come to believe it did, but I need you to know that that sin was my own doing. From the first moment I saw you in his dungeon I have loved you. I was too weak to resist the yearnings of my heart, and my body, not to reach out and try and hold you to me while I could. Before you are ripped from my arms, I wanted to savor every sigh, every radiant smile, every inch of your silken skin. I was too selfish to consider what it would do to you in the end._

_I am sorry. I do not expect your forgiveness. Ever. It is not a thing I deserve or even desire. I will go to whatever circle of Hell awaits me and I will do so gladly, knowing my actions have brought me home at last._

_The raucous sounds from the tavern below us are making you stir. Any moment now you'll lift your head, searching for me, then give me that small, beautiful smile that will have me beneath the sheets with you before I am even aware that I am no longer sitting at this desk._

_I have said all that I can. Mayhaps it will be enough. For what, I do not know. Your understanding, I suppose. So that, despite what awaits you in the days to come, you will know that, for a brief time, you were deeply loved, even if it was only by a wretch such as myself._

_Stay strong, my Rana. Do not let him take who you are along with everything else. The world will be a little less bright for it if he does._

_I love you._

_Yoshimo_

 

Rana's vision blurred and her entire body quaked with her rage.

_How dare he. HOW DARE HE?!_

Prior to this, her belief that their relationship had been meaningless to him had only cut so deeply. He had implied love, in his speech at Spellhold, when he revealed Tamoko was his sister, but she came to assume he had been trying to alleviate his own guilt by claiming feelings that were never there. Her self-esteem had taken a hit. Her ego had been badly bruised. Her heart had been sore, and she had nursed the pain with her bitterness at being used.

She could recover from those things. She _was_ recovering.

But now?

The fucking bastard.

Even from beyond the grave he couldn't stop hurting her. Tossing the letter up onto the mantle next to the ring, Rana tried to run her fingers through her hair, but they caught on the pins, pricking her skin hard enough to draw tiny drops of blood. Viciously she pulled them out, letting them fall from her hands to the floor. The crimson specks reminded her of the other day, when the taint had distracted her to the point she couldn't realize she was cutting her hands with her knife. Remembering this made her think of what had come after that.

No, she couldn't think of that either. Sarevok, too, wanted to take without any regard for her feelings. He didn't want her love, or companionship, or even friendship. Just her power. With no regard for how being together would make her feel. Without a single care for what she wanted.

The room seemed to pulse with crimson as the taint tried to consume her pain and grief and replace it with even more anger. She should fight it, force it back, but she didn't want to. If she didn't exorcise it though, it would likely lead to more unintentional self harm. And she was tired of hurting.

Grabbing her cloak from a hook beside her door, she swept it over her, pulling the hood up, but not bringing it low over her face. Then she stuffed her feet into one of her pairs of knee-high boots, buckled her sword belt around her waist, and slung her bow and the quiver hanging on the desk chair over her shoulder.

Locking her bedroom door behind her and slipping the key onto the thin leather necklace that held a thumb-sized blood opal beneath her shirt, Rana made her way downstairs.

“There you are godchild, I was just on my way to come find you.”

“Not now, Jaheira,” Rana replied, brushing past the druid on her way to the front doors.

“Yes, _now_ , Ilyrana. I've let you put off this talk long enough,” the other woman said, moving to block her way.

A wary, and grim, look crossed Jaheira's face when she saw Rana's eyes start to glow.

“Obviously I was right. I should not have been so careless as to not pay attention to the recent changes in you. Forgive me, godchild, I will not be so neglectful in the future.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You! This! I can practically see your father's taint warping you right in front of me! Why are you so angry, Rana? Speak to me, we'll calm you down first so that you'll be more receptive to what I have to say.”

“My anger doesn't concern you, for now. Be thankful for that. And I already know what you'll say. I don't know why that Protection from Evil spell perceived me as wicked. And frankly I don't give a fuck. Talking about it is a waste of time.”

“Gods, child, what's wrong with you? How can you just shrug off something like that? As if being evil is only some minor inconvenience! What would Gorion say if he could see you right now?”

“You think I fucking care what he would think or say?! You think I give his memory a single thought before I do anything? I do what I have to do. Nothing more. And _nothing_ less. Burdening myself with a dead man's opinions is pointless. As is this conversation.”

“Do you have any idea who you sound like? I knew this would happen. I've said it all along. Silvanus only knows why you allowed that beast to claw his way out of Hell, because I surely do not. Can't you see what he's doing? He's corrupting you, Rana. He taints everyone and everything around him. I'd hoped you would realize the dangers of keeping him around, even if I could understand your reasoning behind doing so; keeping him on a tight leash prevents him from being able to hurt even more people than he already has. But you need to do something about him, _now.”_

“Sarevok? You think this is about _Sarevok?”_

Even as Rana mocked the druid’s words, she knew there was some truth in them. Sarevok _was_ part of what fueled her anger right now. And he _was_ the _entire_ reason behind her disgust with Gorion. Jaheira knew none of this, though. She was basing her observations on a belief that Rana was too weak-willed to hold up against her half-brother’s influence. Which is yet to be seen. Regardless, though, she had no desire whatsoever to discuss morality or be lectured about “maintaining the balance”.

“Yes, this is about Sarevok!” Jaheira all but spat his name. “Ever since he came back he's been digging his hooks into you! Eager to watch you fall, in one way or another. You think he wants you to be the one the prophecy is about? You think he cares about anything other than himself? Men like him don't change. Valygar and Keldorn can keep their foolish notions of redemption, they weren't there when Sarevok rose to power and nearly ignited a war. They didn't see what he was like, and how little difference there is between then and now. You can put a collar on a worg but that won't keep him from eventually biting the hand that feeds him. He _will_ turn on you, child, if he hasn't already. You need to get rid of him _now.”_

“Get rid of him _how, Jaheira?_ Are you asking me to attack and kill a member of this group? Based on what he _may do?_ What kind of precedent does that set? How would the others feel knowing I might one day look upon _them_ unfavorably because of you or someone else's paranoia? And then murder them for it? You want to talk to me of evil but then not only condone, but _insist_ I commit an act like that? I should have expected this from you, Jaheira. You are a Harper after all.”

“I'm already too late, aren't I? Ilyrana, Sarevok is not some _innocent_ person. Or have you forgotten everyone he's butchered? About the thousands more that would have died in his war? Putting a rabid animal down is _not_ evil, child, it is _necessary_ if you want to keep the contamination from spreading. To prevent it from harming those around it with it's madness.”

Ilyrana's eyes were like twin suns now, glowing so brightly that Jaheira had trouble looking her in the face.

“Necessary to keep the contamination from spreading… you honor Gorion's memory with those words, _Harper_ ,” Ilyrana sneered. “He believed much as you do. That sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good. Be it animals, as you're fond of making analogies to. Or people. _Or children.”_

 _“_ What are you talking about, child?”

“ _I am not a child!_ Gorion's folly saw to it that I reached maturity. One mistake of many that he made. Listen, well, Jaheira. Until Sarevok does something that _I_ believe warrants his execution, I will do _nothing_ about his presence within this company. Just as I will do _nothing_ about yours until you give me reason to do otherwise. _Do not speak of this to me again._ ”

Ilyrana shoved past her and walked out the front doors, barely refraining from slamming them closed behind her. She didn't know where she was going. Or what she would do. She just needed to move. Just needed to _breathe_ without everyone's bullshit pressing down on her.

Heading toward the town proper, she felt that faint tug of awareness from somewhere within this place, again, as she did yesterday. One of her half-siblings. Veering in the direction it was coming from, she pulled her hood down lower to hide her face then slid a hand to one of her knives in her belt.

If she was going to be deemed evil, regardless of whatever she did and didn't do, then she wouldn't balk at what her darker nature urged her to do. Not this time.

Gorion and Jaheira believed it was alright to end a few lives if it meant saving many. Despite the innocence of those being sacrificed. Despite the uncertainty of so many deaths.

So Ilyrana would follow their example and do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be a good time to remind everyone that this IS a darker rendition of the story. It can't always be gloom and misery, so I do try to inject as much humor and the occasional fuzzy moment when I can. But we are closing in on some hard times. Rana will do some things, and feel certain ways, that some, including me, may disagree with. She may realize she's wrong, or she may justify it completely, but she is what she is. As is Sarevok.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	17. Chasing Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sigh* This chapter doesn't end at all like I was planning on it to. It may seem like they're going in circles, but there *is* a purpose behind all the angst. I promise. Also, I will be introducing some original characters shortly, as well as some familiar faces as I get ready to finally advance the main story.

_Ilyrana_

 

Her half-sister was a tall, fair skinned woman with golden hair that was almost white and glacial blue eyes. A prominent scar ran down the left side of her face and it somehow further enhanced her beauty. She had a head on Ilyrana and was wearing what looked like an annoyingly well made suit of chainmail.

She'd been stalking the woman for over an hour now, shadowing her as she went from threatening some poor smith about a weapon she wanted enhanced to speaking to some of the town guard about the missing children. Her accent suggested somewhere north, perhaps one of the Ten Towns. She was haughty and sharp of tongue and wit. Ilyrana would have liked her under different circumstances.

Tor Niedrig was in the midst of preparing for Highharvesttide, as farmers brought in the last of their crops and convoys readied to leave before the snows came. Soon, there would be feasting and revelry, but Ilyrana's icy sister would not be around to partake in it.

The woman turned down one of the cobbled streets and eventually came upon an archery range where seven men were practicing while another corrected or taunted when needed. Rana flitted to the shadows around a pyramid of empty barrels and watched. The other bhaalspawn struck up a conversation with who appeared to be their leader, but she wasn't interested at all in what was being said. Her attention was fully arrested by the bow the man carried.

This must be the one Valygar had mentioned. Rana's eyes swept covetously over the gleaming obsidian hue of the wood. There were runes engraved, which was typical of enchanted bows, but _this_ one's were _exquisite_. The bowstring was obviously sinew of some kind and the man had a quiver, so no enchanted arrows. Which was fine, she enjoyed fletching anyway.

Stifling a whimper of longing, she focused on their words in time to hear the woman ask if he was taking on new mercenaries. The man made some kind of misogynistic reply, followed by a sexual innuendo about sheaths and swords that made both women cringe and roll their eyes.

The man must have stolen that bow and used it as ornamentation because his eyesight was obviously too poor to use the thing properly if he couldn't recognize a formidable warrior standing right in front of him. Her sister seemed to come to a similar conclusion because she replied with something pithy and left.

Rana cast one more lustful look at the bow, silently promised it she would return to rescue it, then resumed her stalking. The other bhaalspawn headed into The Sawtooth Inn and began making her way up the stairs. Rana took a seat at the bar, the same one from last night actually, ordered a glass of Berduskan from Samuel, and made note of the room she disappeared into.

As much as she wanted to repeat her previous night of excessive drinking, she stopped at the one glass. Adding alcohol to the stew of fury bubbling inside her was a bad idea. She wanted to make a clean kill without drawing attention down on herself. Not scream at people to come fight her while she brandished a bottle of wine and a stolen axe in not much more than her smallclothes and boots. Which _may_ have happened once before. There was a reason the Den of Seven Vales in Athkatla had a “DO NOT SERVE” sign with a drawing of her likeness behind it's bar.

When the woman reappeared, still wearing all that armor, much to Rana's dismay, and exited once again, Rana slid a few gold pieces onto the bar and got up. When Samuel took the coins and turned to help another customer, she slipped away and headed up the stairs. Glancing around to make sure no one was paying her any attention, she pressed her ear to the door to listen for anyone else in the room. Hearing nothing, she quickly picked the lock, darted inside, and relocked the door.

This room was _much_ nicer than the one she'd stayed in at The Last Stop. Heading towards the dresser, she began rifling through the woman's things, pocketing anything of value. There wasn't much. Turning to the mattress, she hefted it, checking for tears that would hide more treasure, but found none. She _did_ find a small bag of gold, though, inside an elaborate horn that looked to be of barbarian origin.

A quick perusal of the bathroom and sitting room turned up nothing. Ignoring what appeared to be a journal on the table beside the bed, Rana headed to the door and leaned back against the wall beside it, so that when it opened, she would be hidden.

Her curiosity kept her eyes coming back to land on the diary, but she had no real desire to learn about the woman. She didn't want to know her name. Where she hailed from. If she had a lover. Or children. This wasn't personal, and she intended to keep it that way. One of them had to die. Fate demanded it. Their _blood_ demanded it. It would not be Rana.

Up until now, she had never knowingly sought out her kin, except for Yaga-Shura. She didn't like the thought of hunting her siblings down to kill them for a destiny she didn't even want to be a part of. Most of them were likely doing the same thing she had been doing, just trying to survive and live a normal life. Fate had thrust her into a position where she couldn't bury her head in the sand, though.

There were a very small number of them that possessed far more power than the rest. The Five. And her and Sarevok. If there were more, she hadn't heard of them. If she were like Imoen, who's taint began manifesting itself far later than the rest, and wasn't detectable by other bhaalspawn for whatever reason, she may have been able to go underground, metaphorically speaking of course, and wait this thing out. She highly doubted _every_ bhaalspawn needed to be dead before one of them could ascend or bring their father back. Surely the reason Bhaal spread his seed so far and wide was to eliminate just that problem. There was so much essence out there that enough could be gathered without needing to hunt down every last one.

Of course, acknowledging that meant she had to also acknowledge the fact that this assassination was more than likely very unnecessary. That murdering the Five first, then waiting to see if that was enough before killing the lessers, was the better thing to do. The humane thing. The “right” thing. Rana was pretty damn fed up with all of that, though.

Since she left Candlekeep, she'd tried to walk the straight and narrow, the occasional theft notwithstanding. She hadn't enjoyed the necessity of ending lives. Though she had always been far less scrupulous when it came to vengeance. Rana had spent several years fighting back the taint, trying to hold fast to her ideals. Losing her soul though… having it stolen by the same man who broke her, violated her, and cut her open, was too much to come back from.

It was near impossible to care about some noblewoman’s missing son when she could barely sleep at night for the nightmares. Or feel sorry for the downtrodden citizens of Amkethran when she would be the one going into a dragon's lair and a drow enclave. The effort to empathize with people, aside from the ones she had grown close to over the years, had become exhausting. She would rather have staring contests with basilisks than even attempt to try and appear concerned about their petty problems. Her obstacles were mountains to their molehills, and she was all out of fucks to give.

Did that make her evil? She certainly couldn't see how. It's not like she went out of her way to make their miserable lives even worse. She just had her _own_ miserable life to worry about.

And Sarevok thinks she should become a goddess? To have even more people begging her for something? Expecting things from her? Pass.

Withdrawing her knife, she began to spin it as she waited for the woman's return.

If she were being honest with herself, she would know that the reason she was in this room was because it had been _days_ since she killed last. It felt like she had started eating nothing but vegetables, no meat. At first, you didn't notice you were still starving after eating a meal. Over a short period of time, though, the lack of protein begins to make it's presence known by forcing your mind to focus on possible sources of nourishment. The smell of cooked chicken was suddenly ambrosia to the senses. A steak may as well be a dragon's hoard of gold to a peasant. Rana craved murder in that same way.

Did _that_ make her evil? Again, how could it? Was the wolf evil? Did it not need to kill in order to survive? Was death not bred into its very nature? How long could a predator go without meat before it died?

Bhaalspawn weren't animals, but Rana didn't feel too far removed from them. Being half god, the offspring of murder, made her more than her mortal peers, yet also put her around the same level as a beast. Her needs were just as primal, but she possessed a conscience, which arguably was a hindrance to someone who put murder in the same category as food and even sex.

So, how could that be a mark against her? How could she be blamed for being born this way? Hadn't she fought it tooth and nail all this time? Hadn't she forced herself to ignore the thrill that came with snuffing out the flame of another’s existence? And how would it be any different if she stopped ignoring it and just accepted that it felt good and that she couldn't do a damn thing about that?

The knife blurred faster, but she took care not to cut herself again.

Her and Jaheira's conversation had really struck a nerve. The hypocrisy of wringing her hands over Rana maybe being labeled by the gods as evil, while also calling for Sarevok's death when he had done nothing since his resurrection to warrant it, made her seethe. Like Valygar had said, Sarevok already paid for what he did, he had a clean slate now. She wondered what the woman would say if she laid it all out there. Her and Sarevok's past. What Gorion did to them. How he was instrumental in setting her brother down the path that led to the events that nearly brought Baldur's Gate and Amn to war. Would she place _any_ blame on Gorion? Rana highly doubted it. The Harper wanted to keep hating Sarevok. She understood that. The problem was that Rana was ready to move on while Jaheira was not.

If situations had been reversed, if Gorion had taken Sarevok instead of her, leaving her among the corpses and rubble of that temple, with no memories, would she have turned out differently than she originally had? Almost for a certainty. Especially if she had been adopted by Rieltar, or another like him. Wouldn't she, or anyone, have grabbed at the discovery of their divine parentage, and their inherent legacy, if they were being abused like that?

Which begged the question, what would Sarevok have been like if he _hadn't_ been brutalized by that man? What if he had gotten lucky and been found by someone who raised him in much the same way Gorion had with her?

They were both the products of their fathers, Bhaal, Gorion, and Rieltar. Yet no one seemed to want to lay much responsibility at their feet for the way their children turned out.

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs had her going completely still. When they neared the door, Rana adjusted her hold on her knife and pressed back further against the wall.

The rattle of a key slipping into the keyhole. The click of it unlocking.

The door swung slowly open, putting it between Rana and the woman as she entered her room.

Just when her sister began to turn to shut and lock the door behind her, Rana reached up, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and slit her throat. Elbowing the door shut as the other bhaalspawn fell to her knees, Rana wanted to make sure no one walked by and witnessed this.

Walking around to face the woman, Rana lowered her hood and locked eyes with her as she pressed her hands futilely to her throat, gasping and choking around the blood pouring from the gash. Those icy blue orbs were filled with hate and confusion. The latter changing to sudden understanding as Rana's eyes began to glow in response to her suffering.

She knew. Knew why she was dying.

The seconds ticked by. Rana counted them. Twelve until she slumped forward. Twenty-nine until the gasping stopped. Sixty-three until nothing remained but glittering ash. The body hadn't wanted to surrender life.

She must have had a lot to live for.

As she made her way back downstairs, she decided against having another drink. There was almost a kind of high that had started inside her the moment her steel opened the other bhaalspawn’s throat. Had that always happened? Or had she immediately latched onto guilt and just never noticed it? The guilt was still there, but it was quiet. Quiet enough that she could easily ignore it.

Pulling her hood back up, she glanced around as she stepped outside the inn, debating her next move. There was a calmness within her now. It felt like she'd been viewing the world through a dirty window and had finally shattered it, revealing that what she had been looking at was far crisper and more vibrant than she previously thought.

Heading back toward the archery range, Rana finally allowed herself to think of Yoshimo's last goodbye. The fire that kindled her rage sparked anew just to remember his handwriting alone. He said he loved her. That he hadn't been ordered to sleep with her, that that was his own choice. Rana appreciated better than anyone the seductive allure of having a choice. In anything. What made her utterly convinced he was lying though was that he seemed to have few qualms with bedding her, but he couldn't bring himself to say those three words to her in person. He'd said he hadn't considered what their relationship would do to her once the truth had been revealed. Then why not tell her how he felt? If he truly hadn't been concerned about what he would be leaving behind, why not fully immerse himself in the charade he'd created?

Yoshi had been right about one thing. She hated him. Just as much as she did Irenicus. His letter only solidified that feeling. The knowledge that he and his master burned together gave her some small comfort.

A small feeling of unease settled in her stomach as she thought about how she'd been encouraging Imoen to pursue love with Haer'Dalis. Why would she do that? She never wanted her sister to feel what Rana was feeling now. What she'd felt the moment she realized Yoshimo had betrayed her.

The likelihood that their relationship would fizzle out before things went that far kept her from beating herself up too badly. Both the girl and the tiefling weren't the type to settle down, or take something like love very seriously. Haer'Dalis was a damned Doomguard, after all, an order that worshipped chaos and entropy. He believed that everything died and decayed. Not just that it did, that it _should._ There would be no future there, and it would probably end before Imoen could get attached enough to hurt afterwards. She was a smart girl, she'd come to these conclusions soon enough.

Rana would have to watch what she said to Imoen from now on. She'd only been thinking of the ensuing whirlwind romance that the tiefling could no doubt provide her sister. She hadn't thought of the pain it could inflict when it ended. Maybe writing Aerie for help wasn't such a bad idea after all. Imoen would quickly see how false his affections were once the pretty little avariel was around. And they _were_ false. They were _always_ false.

The voices of the archers could be heard now as Rana neared them. She didn't have a plan, but she was still riding the high of pulling off that assassination so cleanly that she figured dealing with these fools wouldn't be too much trouble. Shrugging her bow off her shoulder, she approached their leader, hoping she remembered his name correctly.

“Captain… Erelon?”

“Aye, that's me, love. Are you another little tavern wench who's gotten it into her head that the big wide world is a better place to be than this shit hole? You'd be the second one today, you would. Don't much blame ya for wanting to get out. But we don't need some lass to babysit. Unless you're looking to do our cooking and rubbing our feet at the end of the day. Am I right, boys?”

The men, who'd turn to listen, gave a few cheers at that. Man, this guy liked the sound of his own voice.

“Course there are other needs you could help us tend to, as well. We're always on the lookout for that kind of help. Come on, let's see ya face.”

The captain reached out to pull Rana's hood back, but she jerked away before he could.

“I'm horribly ugly. Completely disfigured. Birth defect, I'm afraid. I'm also a lousy cook and feet gross me out. How about we see if you can use that bow of yours or if it's just there to compensate for something… lacking.”

“Compensate? Now, little bit, you shouldn't be going around trying to insult a man's pride like that. Bad things could happen to ya and ya don't want that now do ya?”

“So how about you teach me a lesson and prove me wrong? Friendly little competition. You and me. Winner gets that bow of yours.”

“You want to see who's a better bow man? Hah! You're a cheeky runt, aren't ya? There's no way I'm breaking a sweat to prove to some little bitch that I'm better. Unless, of course, ya wanna stop playing around and show us your face, I may decide to reconsider. I have me doubts you're ugly at all, your voice is too pretty. Come on, love, I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Have it your way.”

Rana had an arrow knocked before the man could blink, and sent it through his left eye when he did so. While Captain Erelon fell to the ground, she fired off another at the next closest mercenary, catching him in the throat. The third fell as the others finally reacted and began to draw. The fourth dropped just before she lunged to the side, rolled, came up on one knee, and took out the fifth.

Pain blossomed in her right shoulder as she let her next arrow fly, the impact of the projectile causing her shot to go wide. Dropping her bow, she unsheathed one of her short swords with her left hand, dodged the next arrow, and advanced on the two remaining archers.

The nearest man threw his bow down and withdrew a scimitar. Ignoring the arrow in her shoulder, and the pain radiating from it, she parried the man's panicked slash and then ducked to avoid the next shot from the seventh man.

It was difficult to close _and_ dodge more arrows. Rana suddenly realized her arrogance may be about to get her killed. Trying to keep the man with the scimitar between her and the other archer, it was all she could do to fight back when her right arm barely worked. She was far too used to wielding two swords at once rather than just one.

Fear seized her when the other man threw his own bow aside and withdrew two long swords. Skipping back, she parried and dodged as best she could, eyes darting wildly for an escape. The closest man charged and rammed her with his shoulder, knocking her hard onto her back. Throwing her sword up, she caught his downward slash, but the blow jarred her weapon right out of her hand. Kicking out, she caught him in the leg and he stumbled back. Even as she tried to rise, she knew it was over. The man took a step back toward her, readying to finish her off. The end of a sword suddenly exploded through the middle of his chest, stunning both of them.

Rana looked up into the face of her savior as the mercenary fell and sighed with relief.

“I never thought I'd be this happy to see you, but-”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” Sarevok roared at her, loud enough to make her flinch.

“What the Hell do you mean what the Hell am I doing? What's it look like? I was kindly asking these nice men to hand over a bow I wanted and, okay, some things might have gotten lost in translation-”

“IS THIS A GAME TO YOU?!”

For a second, she honestly thought he might attack her. He looked furious, eyes glowing brightly, hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. Glancing around, having just remembered the last man, she saw the two halves of him laying nearby. Satisfied they were all dead, she turned back to Sarevok.

“I dunno why you're so pissed off. If I die, then you can move on to our sister and start trying to seduce _her_ into ascending. _She_ might actually go for it.”

That was, perhaps, the wrong thing to say. Stabbing his sword into the ground, he advanced on her. Reflexively, she backed away, knowing full well that she couldn't possibly fight him right now. He snatched her by the arms and pulled her to him, making her gasp as pain flared throughout the entire upper right side of her body. This seemed to quell some of his rage as his grip instantly relaxed and he looked at the wooden shaft protruding from her shoulder.

“Hold still.”

Gently, he wrapped one hand around the fletching, then looked her in the eyes, waiting for her nod of readiness. Taking a deep, bracing breath, she gritted her teeth and gave the go ahead.

Her left hand shot out to grab his arm, needing something to hold onto as agony screamed through her when he snapped the feathered end off of the arrow. Panting, she dug her nails into the skin of his forearm, trying not to move any more when he reached around to slide the arrow out. He caught her when she sagged against him, suddenly light headed from the pain.

“Drink,” he ordered her as he withdrew a healing draught from his bag and pressed it to her lips.

She obeyed, swallowing the syrupy stuff until the pain disappeared and feeling returned to her right arm. Pushing the bottle away, she tried to back up but he only tightened his hold on her.

“Now. Tell me why the fuck you thought it was a good idea to take on _eight_ men at once. _By yourself.”_

 _“_ I might have been feeling a little cocky. And I really wanted that asshole’s bow.”

“Then why didn't you just use your half of our soul to alert me to your location so I could come assist you?” He asked her through gritted teeth.

“Um. It never occurred to me?”

The look he gave her had her dropping her eyes and trying, unsuccessfully, to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Alright, fine, it was stupid, now let me go.”

“Stupid? Storming out of the house and heading into town alone without telling anyone where you're going is stupid. This was borderline suicidal, Rana!”

“What do you care? Like I said, Imoen-”

“YOU THINK I WANT HER?!”

“STOP YELLING AT ME! AND WHY WOULDN'T YOU? SHE'S AS MUCH CHANCE OF BEING THE ONE THE PROPHECY IS ABOUT AS ME!”

“BUT SHE _ISN'T_ YOU!”

That made her stop struggling to get away. Looking up at him, she tried to read it in his face if he'd actually meant that. Letting her go, he sighed and stepped away toward the fallen captain. Wrapping her arms around her stomach, suddenly feeling vulnerable and hating it, she silently watched him snatch up the gleaming black bow. Without a word, he handed it to her, along with her short sword and discarded bow. Avoiding his gaze, she slipped her blade into its sheath, and slung both short bows over her shoulder.

“How did you know where I was?” She asked quietly, needing to fill the silence.

“The Harper started yelling at Valygar that she was right all along. That i had corrupted you, and when she confronted you about it, you left. The ranger was going to try and go after you, but I told him I would go. I think he agreed because of how angry that obviously made the bitch.”

“She gives you far too much credit.”

“Indeed. I haven't even officially begun trying to corrupt you yet.”

For some reason, she felt heat flood her cheeks at that. When she opened her mouth to respond, shouts rang out from the other side of the archery range.

“Someone called the guards. We have to go. Now!” Sarevok hissed, pushing her in the opposite direction while he grabbed and sheathed his sword.

Running toward an alley, they got out of sight just as the first of the town guard showed up.

“You mean you don't want to stay and fight them?” Rana asked in mild surprise as they picked their way through stacks of crates and barrels.

“You bought a house in this town. That means you want to stay here awhile, yes?”

“Well, yeah, but-” she was cut off as voices could be heard behind them.

Silently, they turned down another alley and began trying to make their way back home without being spotted. He was right. If they were seen, they wouldn't be able to stay in this town any longer. Not after the guard noticed the men they'd killed in broad daylight.

“This way,” she whispered, cutting through a yard that led to another alley between a few closed down shops.

When she was about to dart out onto a street that led to the town square where they could blend into the crowds, Sarevok grabbed her around the waist from behind and pulled her into a shadowed doorway. Just in time to avoid the six heavily armed soldiers coming down that way.

Sinking back further into the shadows, they watched the men slow and look down the alley. Holding her breath, she started to reach for her swords but his hand touched her wrist to stop her.

“Don't,” he breathed, pressing her into the stone wall of the building.

She let him, his much larger body blocking the men from view, and she found herself looking up at him, watching his face as he turned his head to watch the men. When she heard them begin moving away, back up the street, she let out the breath she didn't realize she was still holding.

“That was close,” she whispered.

He didn't reply as he turned to look down at her. Her hood had pulled back at some point during the fight with the archers, revealing most of her face. Raising a hand, he slipped it back even further, then let the backs of his fingers trail down her cheek. Her heart sped up at just that contact as his eyes burned into hers.

He was going to kiss her again. She couldn't let that happen. But when his rough hand slid around to cup the back of her neck, with his earlier words still echoing in her head, and the adrenaline from the fight and their flight still pumping through her, she couldn't remember why.

“The next time you want to come slaughter people, tell me,” he murmured, face only inches from hers, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. “So I can at least try and reign you in a little so you don't bring the town down around us.”

“Look at you being the voice of reason and restraint,” she breathed.

He chuckled, and the sound of it made her stomach do weird things. She wasn't used to him being like this. He seemed more… human. Approachable. None of which helped her at all. He was trying to use her, she _had_ to remember that. If she let herself forget… well, she only had to think of Yoshimo's letter to remember why she shouldn't become involved with anyone. Especially a man who had already made his intentions known.

“Rana…”

The sound of more shouting jerked them both back to reality. The guards were coming down the alley from the way they had come. They needed to move.

Sarevok leaned around the side of the archway, glancing up and down the street, then motioned for her to slip past him. As she began to, a movement in the shadows across the alley caught her attention and she stopped.

Several sets of wide eyes blinked at her, all of them emerald in color. Four tiny kittens sat huddled together, so close she couldn't discern which ones were what color, gazing fearfully up at her.

“What are you doing?” Sarevok hissed. “Go!”

“Help me grab them!”

“ _Are you insane, woman?!”_

 _“_ Please!”

He didn't answer, just grabbed her and pushed her out onto the street, holding her by the arm to keep her from going back.

“Oh, come on!”

“We are not stopping to catch feral kittens while there's guards swarming this area looking for anyone suspicious looking!”

“Ugh, whatever, I'll go back later then, Captain Killjoy.”

“What did you just call me?”

“You heard me.”

“If we weren't in public…”

“You wouldn't do a damn thing cause that title fits you, and you know it.”

“Rana,” he growled through clenched teeth.

“Sarevok.”

As they reached the town square, and the noise and chaos that engulfed it as merchants hawked their wares, people haggled over prices, and packs of children scampered under foot, he reluctantly released his hold on her.

“Forget about the damn kittens,” he said as a dozen armed soldiers appeared behind them and began taking up observatory positions around the marketplace. “This place is going to be crawling with guards for the rest of the day.”

“Fine. I'll come back tomorrow.”

“Fine. I'm coming with you.”

“No, you're not. I don't wanna listen to you complain, and I _know_ you'll try and stop me from taking all of them!”

“The fuck are you going to do with _four_ cats?”

“Cuddles. _Lots_ and _lots_ of cuddles,” she responded gravely, then grinned up at him as a memory suddenly popped into her mind. “I seem to recall you promising me you'd get me a pet when we were children.”

“I made you a bunch of foolish promises. They don't count for anything now,” he replied harshly, and looking straight ahead.

“But you sure do like to bring them up when they support your pursuit of power.”

“And you sure do like to ignore them, then expect me to honor the one you like the most.”

“A habit I picked up from you, I guess.”

“We can do this all day, Rana, but I'm not going to let you put everything at risk for some kittens.”

“It sounds like you're implying kittens are somehow less important than power. Which explains everything anyone needs to know about you.”

“This conversation is over.”

Intentionally bumping into a well dressed woman, and slipping her bejeweled bracelet into her cloak, Rana glanced up in time to see Sarevok looking down at her with a look she couldn't interpret.

“What?”

“I just don't understand you. How you can turn your back on godhood without a second thought, yet you have to be physically restrained from trying to catch some cats in the midst of running from the town guard.”

“I thought you said the conversation was over.”

“You were reared by a Harper to be a ranger, yet you're as sticky fingered as any common thief. You have enough gold to purchase a house on a whim, yet you steal like you're destitute. You fight our father's influence, yet you gleefully throw yourself against overwhelming odds unnecessarily. You're a walking contradiction, Rana, and I can't wrap my mind around it.”

“It's part of my charm.”

Sarevok snorted and pressed through the throngs of people, elbowing his way toward a less busy avenue leading home. She fell in step behind him, letting him part the waves of humanity so she wouldn't have to. A person with even just an average amount of intelligence would take one look at the Deathbringer and get out of his way. While most of the time she got stepped on.

“Have you thought of one day returning to Baldur's Gate?” He asked suddenly.

“Um, kind of. I don't exactly have fond memories of the place, but there's a score that still needs to be settled there.”

“With whom?”

“Duke Eltan.”

“For what? Despite the fact the man's a self-important little worm, that is.”

“He’s the one who politely kicked me out of the city before I could finish recovering from our fight.”

Sarevok stopped so suddenly that she collided with him and nearly fell backwards. He resumed walking and didn't speak again until they were finally out of the crowds and relatively alone.

“You had said that the Grand Dukes found out about our relation and that it was no longer safe to stay in the city. You were referring to Duke Eltan in particular?”

“Yes. He approached me a fortnight after our fight and thanked me some more for saving the city, told me he was in my debt, and all of that. Then he said that he knew about us, and that the other Grand Dukes had found out as well, and were calling for me to leave or be arrested. He insinuated that the people of the city would find out soon enough, probably because he was planning on telling them, and so he thought it best if I left without any fanfare.”

“Even though you had saved his ass and you were still wounded.”

“Yes.”

“I see. I hadn't intended to ever return, but now…” he trailed off, eyes softly glowing.

“Hey, this is my vendetta. _And since I'm not planning on ascending_ , I'm going to be the one who kills him once this war is over.”

“You could make his life considerably more unpleasant if you were a goddess, little one.”

“I could, couldn't I? Too bad that's never gonna happen.”

“Why? You've never given me a solid reason as to why godhood repulses you so. Not that there _is_ any reason profound enough, but I'm curious as to what crazed delusions you've conjured up to justify it in your mind.”

“You seriously can't think of a single reason why ascending to fight over a portfolio with a madman, then, if I survive and somehow win, having to insert myself into divine politics and listen to my followers whine and beg for things, all while trying to hold onto the power I've obtained while _also_ trying to steal other’s in order to secure my powerbase… none of this sounds unappealing at all to you?!”

“No.”

“Speaking of delusions…”

“Fighting and killing a god, even a mad one like Cyric, should be tempting enough. And then to take his place among the pantheon of not just other gods, but Greater Gods, is more than enough reason to risk anything and give up everything. You would be _worshipped_ . I would think _that_ would be enough to alleviate any misgivings about listening to your sheep bleat their desires at you. And the eternal struggle for power and dominance, constantly testing your strength against those equal in power… I ask again, _why pass this up?_ What could _possibly_ tie you down to the point that you'd actually want to remain a mortal among a horde of other insignificant peasants?”

“Kittens.”

“ _Must everything be a joke to you?”_

 _“_ Everything? No. But I see no reason to take _everything_ so damn seriously. It's why I'm happier than you are. You can't ever just be satisfied with what you have. Which is more than most 'insignificant peasants’, I might add.”

“Happiness? The fuck is that, little fool? A fleeting emotion that you allow to manipulate you into thinking you could actually be content with this pointless life you wish to lead. It weighs you down just as much as that sister of yours.”

“Only _you_ would find the concepts of happiness and contentment beneath you. And it's not surprising at all that you think caring about someone 'weighs you down’. This may be a mind blowing revelation for you, but it _is_ possible to _not_ consider people you're close to, and that love you, as expendable pawns to use and discard at your leisure. I'll give you a minute to process that. I understand it may be difficult for you.”

“Ah, so now we're on the topic of 'love’,” he sneered. “Which I find surprising that you would bring up on the heels of ‘happiness’. How has love turned out for you, Rana? How happy has it made you? Do you have fond memories of those you loved? And that claimed to love you? Tell me, how has love helped you in the past?”

Rana stopped walking. Yoshimo's words swam through her mind, taunting her just as cruelly as Sarevok was doing. Gorion’s actions, from the raid to never telling her about her parentage, had been done out of “love”. Even other ghosts, like Tamoko, resurfaced in her memory to haunt her. That woman had loved Sarevok, she assumed, and how had he treated her? Winksi, too, his mentor, had also deeply cared for the man. And how had Sarevok repaid that kind of devotion?

He may not be aware of the letter that Rana had only just found, but he knew more than enough to be aware of just how painful his words could be to her.

Noticing that she had stopped, he turned and looked at her, noting her struggle to keep the fury and pain at bay. Had he any shred of decency, or empathy, he would have simply stopped talking. Had he any warmth or regard for her feelings at all, he would have apologized. Rana should have remembered, yet again, who she was dealing with.

“I see you're clever enough to at least know that I speak the truth. You waste these frivolous feelings on others, and in turn devour the lies they feed you about valuing you at all. If you're that pathetic and desperate for attention, though, that you think you need the smoke and mirrors that go hand in hand with something like love, then I suppose it's my fault for expecting more out of you. I can see now how something like _becoming a god_ would be frightening to you. Not enough pretty little illusions for you to hide behind and fool yourself with.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, as she resumed walking again.

“For?”

“Reminding me why I should hate you.”

“ _Bah!_ You think I concern myself with how you feel about me? If anything, it pleases me to know you're still capable of being rational, as I've given you little cause to feel otherwise.”

“Indeed.”

Rana lengthened her stride, despite the futility of it, as he could easily keep pace with her. Her house loomed before them. She hoped Keldorn had made it back with those two servants. The first thing she was going to do was send them into town for wine, so she could lock herself in her room and forget all this.

“I hope I've somehow gotten it through that stubborn head of yours that your entire life, and everything you've done and gone through, is completely wasted if you don't accept the gifts fate has in store for you.”

“Were I you, Sarevok, I would shut the fuck up right about now.”

“Did I strike a nerve, girl? Good. It means some of this is sinking in, even if you don't wish to acknowledge it.”

Rana laughed, and it sounded eerie even to her.

“You really think you've somehow gained some sort of advantage here? That by pissing me off, it proves you were right all along? That all the bullshit you just told me is similar to things I've been thinking all along and have just not wanted to admit it, or something? Do you think that once I've calmed down, I'll realize your wisdom is invaluable and I'll seek you out, willing to do whatever it is you want in order to further receive your counsel?”

“Rana, if you possessed even a modicum of intelligence, you would do just that. I grow tired of playing these games with you. It's like trying to teach a child, and I haven't the patience for it. How I did so when we were young-”

“Remember early this morning, you tried to see if I could say that I don't want anything between us? Well, _I don't want anything between us_. Leave me alone. I don't want anything to do with you. I am glad, though, that you were able to thoroughly convince me that my memories of us together as children are a complete waste of space inside my head. Thanks for that. I wish Gorion had just killed you. I wish I had never brought you back.”

And with that, Rana opened the front doors of her home, stepped inside, and slammed them shut behind her.


	18. Darkest Before Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is now 100k+ words, which is insane considering the snail's pace that the plot is moving haha
> 
> This chapter is my longest to date, coming in at 10k words, and it's one I've waited SOOOOO long to write for several reasons that should become apparent.

_Sarevok_

Lying awake, listening to the rain that had begun falling the previous day and hadn't let up, which had prompted Ilyrana to further postpone setting out to explore the area around the city in search of any signs of Sendai or Abazigal, Sarevok mulled over his “latest debacle” as Viconia would put it.

Some combination of watching Rana almost die to those remaining mercenaries, unsure if he would get to her in time, the ensuing retreat to avoid discovery by the guards, nearly being caught because of her sudden whim to catch cats, that blinding smile she had given him while reminding him of his vow to get her a pet when they were children, and her inability to take anything seriously had thrown him enough that he had let his frustrations get the better of him.

In the past, his temper had often goaded him to act ahead of his better judgement, though it rarely affected his words. Now, with her, it had completely flipped.

The only upside of no longer having the taint was he had far more control over his anger. No longer did his vision cloud over with a scarlet haze that rendered him unable to do anything other than exorcise his fury until it dissipated. The problem now, however, was that he seemed to have lost all ability to censor what came out of his mouth where she was concerned.

She knew how to bring his wrath to the fore, as he did her, and because she seemed to think he won't hurt her, she no longer used caution when they argued. And he was unused to being spoken to like that.

Before, when last he lived, everyone around him took care while speaking to him, in fear of invoking his anger. Some more or less than others of course. His inner circle was freer with voicing their opinions as they were there for just that purpose. The only one who had ever outright disobeyed him or refused to back down when his eyes began to glow was Tamoko. Winksi, too, at the very end. And where were they now?

Rana appeared to have lost any misgivings she may have ever had with telling him exactly what she thought, and it was _because_ she knew he wouldn't harm her. Couldn't harm her. And she hadn't required an oath from him to not turn on her, thus denying him the illusion that his restraint wasn't self-imposed. The damned girl was safe from him. She knew it and she used it. All the while, he struggled to stop himself from enraging her, lest he drive her away and lose his only chance at the kind of power she could offer him. A thought the old Sarevok would have found infuriating beyond all reason rather than just irritating.

Was he really so different now? Rana seemed to think not, but at times he hardly recognized himself. Before, he would have never looked back on something he'd said, especially to her, and felt… guilty. That was the word, he supposed, for how he was feeling. It wasn't something he was used to either, and it had annoyed him to the point that he'd been avoiding nearly everyone since their fight.

She'd warned him to stop and he hadn't listened. He was just so damn intent on _trying_ to get it through to her how foolish she was being for not even considering Ascension, that he had ignored the anger in her voice and the pain she was trying to hide in her eyes until it was too late.

What concerned him was that he might have pushed her too far this time. That she'd meant her dismissal. Hopefully, though, like him, she had just let her anger speak for her instead. She hadn't attacked him or released the Slayer. Nor did she outright tell him to leave, so there was that, at least.

Releasing a sigh of frustration, he rose from his bed and went to the window, looking out into the dreary night. He knew what he had to do. Having known her as a child, and seeing that that girl was still very much alive in the woman she'd grown into, he knew there was still some small chance of salvaging this.

What made him hesitate, though, and had kept him awake for most of the previous night and through half this night as well, was he wasn't sure of _why_ he was considering trying to earn her forgiveness.

He could tell himself that it was because he still wanted her, now more than ever. That he craved the smell of orchids on his sheets with an intensity that almost frightened him.

He could follow that thought up with the drive to become her right hand after he convinced her to ascend. Something he still desperately wanted.

The problem was that the former desire was becoming stronger than the latter. He wanted to claim her and just worry about the rest later. Which is why he wasn't as steadfast in his convictions anymore. And that wouldn't do. If he lost sight of his end goal, then where would that leave him? He'd be damned if at the end of this war, once the last foe had fallen, he was left standing with absolutely nothing to show for his entire existence. That this prophesied point in history passed him by like he were nothing. That the woman who defeated him had given up something almost anyone else would die for. That _he_ had died trying to take.

Turning his mind from that winding avenue of thought, he began to ruminate on her response to his question about going back to Baldur's Gate. He didn't know, exactly, what had prompted him to ask her that. Maybe walking through the throngs of people in the city square had reminded him of his former home. Or maybe he had some kind of secret desire to return to that city with her at his side. To see the Dukes tremble in fear as they watched their scourge and their savior descend upon them together. Of course, in order for that little fantasy to come to fruition, she would have to refuse her birthright, at which point he doubted he could stand to be anywhere near her.

He _was_ sure of one thing, though; Duke Eltan’s days were numbered. He'd almost succeeded in killing the man during his rise to power, if only because he was an obstacle to be removed. To hear that he was the reason Rana was turned out of the city before she could finish healing, leaving her vulnerable to Irenicus, gave him something to look forward to once the prophecy was fulfilled.

Sarevok supposed it didn't matter why he wanted her forgiveness. He needed it if he hoped to even so much as speak with her again. Two times they'd been in the same room together since then. On both occasions she completely ignored him. The only sign that she was even aware of his presence was her hands slowly closing into fists. Otherwise, she neither looked at him nor talked to him.

Gathering up his sword and a cloak, though it wouldn't do much against the downpour, he readied to leave. As much as he did _not_ want to go outside at this hour, in the cold and wet, he needed to at least move or go mad staying in this bedroom.

And he was tired of trying not to remember her words and the unforeseen effect they had on him.

_For reminding me why I should hate you._

_I wish Gorion had just killed you._

_I wish I had never brought you back._

Sentiments he had always assumed she already felt. Hearing them said aloud, however, had been startling. Because at some point, he must have thought she no longer felt that way.

As he no longer felt a great many things about her.

* * *

 

_Ilyrana_

Walking out of her room, Rana began making her way downstairs, as quietly as she could so as not to wake anyone. Her destination? The kitchen. Or more specifically, the small wine cellar beneath it.

Hearing the front door close, she detoured to a nearby window and looked out, allowing her Infravision to kick in as visibility was practically zilch in this weather.

Sarevok’s towering form flickered red as he disappeared into the night.

Where was _he_ going? And at this hour? And in this rain?

 _Why do you care?_ She asked herself.

Fuck him. May he stay gone.

Turning back to her mission, she fought the urge to flick his soul half with her own, to find out if he was leaving for good. Not that she cared.

Quietly gathering three bottles of the Berduskan Dark that she'd had Chauntia, their new servant, buy earlier today, she started back to her room.

Purposefully not looking out the windows, she stabbed the cork in one of the glass bottles with her knife, twisted, and pulled it free. Taking a few healthy swallows while she closed the door with a hip, Rana set the two unopened bottles on the floor beside her bed. Climbing between her sheets, she tucked her wine into her side, picked up her quill, and continued updating her long neglected journals.

She'd forgotten how soothing something as simple as writing could be. Even if the subject matter often left her haunted. Sometimes, she didn't even know how she felt about some things until she'd put it into words on parchment. Other times, she was tempted to lie about what went through her mind during whatever encounter she was recording.

Lying to your own diary had to be a special kind of low. Especially when she already wrote in Elvish, rather than the Common tongue. Which was due in large part to Imoen having read her earliest entries back in Candlekeep. Rana did _not_ want her sister reading about pretty much anything after leaving their former home.

As the flow of sentences stuttered in her head, she began to doodle until she could get her thoughts back in order. It didn't help that her mind kept absently wondering if Sarevok had left for good. If, when she woke tomorrow, she would discover that he'd cleaned out his room and vanished without a letter or explanation to anyone.

It would be for the best if he had. For her, for her relationship with Imoen, and perhaps Jaheira, too. If that truly mattered that much to her, though, then why did she feel like she'd lose something if he left? Like a small piece of her would be missing in the morning. Which was ludicrous all things considered… but that feeling persisted nonetheless.

Letting out an annoyed sigh, she tossed her journal and quill aside, took a long drag from her bottle, and got to her feet.

Why wait till morning?

Padding quietly out into the hallway, she began making her way to the end furthest from her room, to the very last door on the left. Pausing to listen, her sensitive ears primed for even the smallest sound, she plucked two pins out of her hair, the bun loosening but not coming undone, and began fiddling with the lock.

Cringing as the door creaked when she began to open it, Rana swiftly darted inside and closed it behind her as silently as she could. Candles still burned on the dresser and nightstand, their light reflecting off the surface of his armor that laid across a desk. His sword was gone, but that was not unusual if he was venturing out anywhere. All evidence pointed to him coming back. She told herself it was disappointment that she felt with that conclusion.

Maybe he'd gone to one of the taverns for a drink. Or company.

She told herself it was indifference that she felt with _that_ thought.

As she turned to leave, something on his dresser caught her attention. Staring at it, one hand on the door handle, she told herself not to do what she was thinking of doing.

_Bad idea. Leave it be. Walk away._

Ignoring herself, she flitted over to it, grabbed it, and made her way back to her own room, making sure to lock his door behind her.

Once she'd locked her own door, she tore off the scratchy shirt she was wearing and slid the one she'd just stolen from him on. She figured he owed her for stopping her from taking those kittens. And being a total ass shortly after that.

She should be thankful he kept pushing her away. What pissed her off, though, was his habit of doing so shortly after pulling her in. Every single time he made her start to question, to waver, to _want,_ and wonder… he would give her twice as many reasons not to.

It was emotionally draining, especially when she was already tapped out thanks to Yoshimo's letter. And Jaheira's paranoia. And yet she kept letting him do it.

Why?

As she returned to bed after gulping down a few more generous swallows of wine, she decided to forgo writing anymore tonight in favor of getting some sleep. Or at least trying to.

Sarevok's scent clung to his shirt, which was irritatingly distracting. The only reason she didn't ditch it was because it was comfortable enough that she didn't want to. She had a theory that men's shirts were all made of higher quality than women's. Their pants, too, as their pockets were actually usable. The _only_ reason she hadn't taken to filching any of those was because, even with a belt, none of them would come close to fitting her.

At least she'd found a new source for shirts, since Keldorn and Valygar had gotten all greedy with theirs. The only others she could take were Haer'Dalis's, which smelled of sulfur, and Anomen's, which had a chance of resulting in him planning their wedding if he discovered she wore his clothes to bed. Which is why she avoided his at all costs. She didn't know what Sarevok's reaction would be, if he found out, which was unlikely, and she didn't much care.

Drifting off to sleep, she could only hope that the rain ceased before she woke, so that she could begin hunting the other bhaalspawn, and thus be too busy to think about the chaos that was her life.

* * *

 

 

_Ilyrana strolled casually down the busy streets of Tor Niedrig, lifting purses, dropping a few coins into the hands of beggars, and slipping fresh produce up the sleeves of her cloak; only to hand them out to children later as they stopped to stare at her for they were unaccustomed to seeing elves in these parts._

_The late autumn sky was a deep blue, dotted with a few sparse clouds. The wind was crisp, but hardly noticeable if you just kept moving._

_Turning to inspect a selection of finely crafted daggers, she almost missed her name being called from across the square. Raising her head, she scanned the faces of the townsfolk, looking for the man shouting for her. Just as she began to return her attention to the glittering steel before her, assuming she was just hearing things, she caught sight of him._

_“How… how is this possible?!”_

_“Rana, my Rana, I feared I would never find you again.”_

_Yoshimo slid through the people, his dark eyes fixed on her face, looking like a drowning man who's just grabbed onto the lifeline that had been tossed to him._

_Rana stumbled away from him, disbelieving that he was alive._

_“You're dead! I watched you die!”_

_“No, my love. Well, yes, I did die, but I've been brought back. Through the grace of the Pain Bearer, I've been returned to the land of the living so that I can aid you once more. This time… with no one holding my strings but you.”_

_The Kara-Turan stepped closer to her, eyes roaming over her, as if he also couldn't believe she was real._

_“I don't understand,” she whispered._

_“We are not meant to understand, I think. Death is beyond mere mortals’ comprehension. Who am I to argue with gods? Besides, your brother is alive once more, and he was dead far longer than I.”_

_Yanking off his leather gloves, letting them fall to the ground at his feet, he reached out with one shaking hand to caress her cheek._

_Rana closed her eyes, overwhelmed with what was happening. That he was back._

_When his fingers met her skin, she shivered and involuntarily jerked back. They were ice cold._

_“What's wrong, love? Please don't tell me I'm too late. That you've already given your heart to another.”_

_“What? No, it's just, your hands are freezing.”_

_She found herself shifting back as he got closer. As much as she wanted to embrace him, that unnatural cold disturbed her for some reason._

_“There is no other? Good. I would hate to surrender you right when I found you again. I've no wish to have you, though, if you've already let another man despoil you.”_

“Despoil me?!” _She exclaimed in confusion and growing anger. “What's that supposed to mean?”_

_“Shhhh love, it obviously does not matter, does it? You are still mine, just as you always were. As you will remain.”_

_Rana’s back hit the stone wall of a shop as he continued to advance on her. Placing one hand on the wall above her head, he leaned in and kissed her before she could protest. His lips weren't quite as cold as his hands, but the butterflies were absent from her stomach. Unlike the times before with him._

_“I was never 'yours’,” she hissed after turning away, breaking the kiss. “How could I have ever belonged to you when you were Irenicus's pet? This doesn't even sound like you.”_

_“You've always been mine, my Queen. I will make you see.”_

_“Queen? What are you-”_

_Rana watched in horror as Yoshimo's features began to melt into those of her tormentor. Panic seized her and she made to run, but those cold, cold hands seized her upper arms, holding her in place._

_“Now, godchild, you know how much I dislike it when you struggle. I let you believe that I was your bounty hunter, so it's only fair you allow me to pretend you're my Elliseme.”_

_She didn't stop to think. Throwing the gates open, she called to the Slayer, and felt it immediately respond and begin to rise. Irenicus may be strong enough to kill it, but she would be untouchable; safe within the cage of the beast’s mind until it snuffed her out, sending her soul to the Abyss._

_“Ah ah, Ilyrana,” Irenicus scolded her as the cold intensified on her arms, making her feel as if he was smothering the fire that the Slayer was trying to ignite inside of her in order to cross over._

_Black spots danced in her vision as the pain of his hands warred with the agony of the Slayer's rage as it failed to shred it's way. Her ensuing scream was loud enough to blot out the mage’s next words._

_She could feel herself losing consciousness. Fear urged her to fight back. To try and run. Memories of being at the mercy of his every whim, knowing that obeying him meant marginally less pain and humiliation, left her paralyzed._

_Staring up into those dead, emotionless eyes, feeling the searing frost emanating from his fingers, and hearing the sound of his voice once again, Rana felt that familiar feeling of hopelessness begin to pull her under. Like an undertow, it threatened to sweep her out into deeper waters, where the bottom was far below her kicking feet, and there was nothing to grab onto for miles in any direction._

_She wanted to fight, but what was the point? Irenicus always won. Even in death, after leaving him defeated in Hell, his memory still clung to her like a contagion. Having walked away, alive, was no victory when he still got to torment her._

_Rana began to surrender to unconsciousness, to the swirling black that was her only hope of escaping the pain. Until another voice sounded, much louder than the mage's._

* * *

 

 

“My lady? Mistress! That's it, I'm coming in!”

Rana jerked awake, heaving for air, drenched in sweat despite the cold.

Her door flew open, the explosion of sound had her snatching up the knife beneath the pillow as she rose to her knees atop tangled sheets.

Chauntia, their new servant girl, froze after taking one step into the room, her hand still wrapped around the door handle. Her startling green eyes, made all the more vibrant against her dark skin, were wide with fear as she stared at the elven woman. Rana could only imagine what she looked like.

Without a word, she staggered out of bed, the knife falling to the floor, clattering as it hit the wood. One hand flew to her mouth as her stomach heaved, and it was all she could do to make it into the small bathroom that connected to her room.

Luckily, she was able to avoid throwing up her dinner from the night before, and the wine she'd consumed a few hours ago. Still, she remained slumped beside the basin for a few moments just in case.

“Um… mistress?” The girl asked hesitantly from outside the bathroom door. “Is there anything I can do?”

Rana almost laughed at the naivete of the question.

Chauntia was a tall, willowy young woman of seventeen. She had a shy sweetness about her that endeared her to the group almost immediately. As well as a fair amount of backbone, but for unknown reasons, she hardly let it show. Whether that was because she was still settling in to the duties of looking after such a motley assortment of characters, or she was a foreigner, or because of the scars she tried to hide with scarves and gloves, Rana didn't know exactly yet.

Her and her father, Mezoar, the other hired hand, were both from Chult. They had told Sir Keldorn during the interview that they had left their home because of turmoil within their family, and ended up travelling across the realm, seeing it's wonders.

Mezoar was a rotund, balding older man who had obviously seen as many or more years as the paladin. He was quiet, but kind, and was possibly the best cook Rana had ever seen. It was how he was able to support himself and his daughter during their travels, he'd said. Picking up the various dishes and customs of other people's, he knew a thousand different ways to cook with a thousand different ingredients, a bold proclamation to be sure, but one Rana didn't doubt after tasting only a few of the meals he'd begun preparing for them.

“Mistress?”

“Just give me a second. Please.”

Rising shakily to her feet, Rana glanced in the mirror, to see what the girl had seen. Her eyes, while dimming, still glowed, and their color had taken on a reddish hue. The shadows beneath them were darker, her skin pale and clammy, her hair wild and loose. Her teeth felt marginally sharper, her canines noticeably longer. Even her nails had grown and begun to curl. Into claws.

Staring in horror at herself, unable to look away from her terrifying visage, Rana watched the woman in the mirror smile a cruel smile, even as her own lips remained still. The room began to darken around her, as if the sun were setting far faster than it should be, until the only light left shining were her eyes.

Desperately she rubbed her face and pressed her palms into her closed eyes, hard enough to make them throb. When she opened them again and looked into the mirror, praying to the shadows around her that her reflection would be normal, her heart rate accelerated and adrenaline began pumping yet again through her veins.

The room was still dark, blacker than pitch, and her eyes were glowing brighter than ever. She could see nothing else. Backing away until her waist struck the rim of the bathtub, Rana could only watch helplessly as her reflection leaned forward, until the glow of its eyes began to illuminate the face.

Just as she could begin to discern that it's face was not her own, that its features were warped and alien, Rana lunged forward and struck the glass.

“Mistress! What in the name of Hell is going on in there?!” Chauntia cried from outside the door, obviously hearing the mirror shatter.

The bathroom was suddenly as lit as it was when she first entered it, the candles atop the shelf by the mirror now burning brightly.

Shaking, her breaths still coming fast, Rana began to wash the blood off the cuts on her knuckles. Even though the mirror was broken, she avoided looking at it, as well as the shards that littered the sink and floor. Absently, she wrapped a towel around her hand, moving mechanically, and opened the door.

Chauntia stared worriedly at her, and backed away a few steps to give her some room.

“How do I look?” Rana whispered, not meeting the girl’s eyes.

“Um… what do you mean?”

“ _How. Do. I. Look?_ ”

“Your… um… your eyes aren't glowing anymore if that's what you mean.”

Rana nodded, her shoulders relaxing by a degree. Looking down at her hands, she saw her nails were as they should be, slightly long, but not curled. Pressing her tongue to the tops of her teeth, she felt that they were back to normal as well.

“May I ask what's wrong?”

Chauntia's accent reminded her of Hexxat, the Chultan vampire she was briefly acquainted with back in Amn. That, and her dusky skin, were the only similarities, however. Looking up at the young woman, Rana noticed a smattering of freckles, a few shades lighter than the rest of her face, across her nose and cheeks. Her hair was long and ebony, braided into a hundred tiny braids, and she wore it up in a high tail. Those arresting green eyes were filled with worry, and a little fear, but curiosity as well.

“I'm a bhaalspawn.”

“I know. Sir Keldorn told us when he hired us. That doesn't explain what's the matter.”

“Yes it does,” Rana responded, her voice barely above a whisper.

When Chauntia's brow furrowed in confusion, and she looked as if she were about to ask another question, Rana cut her off.

“I'm afraid I broke my mirror. Would you mind cleaning it up? Be careful not to cut yourself.”

She realized she sounded numb, distracted, and beaten.

“Of course, my lady.”

“Thank you.”

When the girl had left to retrieve a broom and dustpan, Rana stripped off Sarevok's shirt, shoved it down into a dresser drawer, and replaced it with a worn long sleeve one of her own. Running her fingers through her hair, and working loose the knots as best she could, she put it back up into a bun, as it had come undone while she thrashed in her sleep. She saw no point in changing her leggings.

A mirror hung above her dresser, and she'd thrown some of her clothes over it to cover most of it, but Rana took great care not to glimpse the glass even in her peripheral. She vaguely wondered how to smash it without Chauntia suspecting something.

When the girl returned, she was holding her equipment, as well as a slice of bread.

“What's that for?” Rana asked quietly, nodding at the food.

“The broom can't really get the tiny pieces, the ones the size of grains of sand, so you press the bread onto the floor where glass has fallen, and it collects them.”

“Huh. I never thought of that. It's clever.”

Chauntia gave her a small, shy smile. Rana wanted to return it, but she couldn't muster the energy. Turning to pick up the knife she'd dropped earlier, she slid it back beneath her pillow, and began to leave.

“Um, mistress?”

“Hmm?”

“I'm… sorry, for bursting in like that. I… heard you scream, and your door was locked, so I… I… picked the lock. I'm so very sorry, I didn't mean-”

“You can pick locks?”

“Yes,” she responded fearfully, but honestly.

“When you return to town, have a blacksmith duplicate my key,” Rana said, pulling it off her necklace and handing it to the girl. “So you don't have to feel guilty next time.”

“You're not angry? Most people don't feel comfortable with a servant who can open things they're not meant to. And… next time?”

“I keep my door locked out of habit mostly. As well as to discourage unwanted visits. Should I need to be awoken from a nightmare again, and yes, there will be a next time, there always is, you can get in faster this way.”

“So… these nightmares happen often, then?”

Rana had a sudden desire to lie. She didn't want to scare the girl away. Something about her made Rana feel steadier. Perhaps it was because of how she seemed to be taking all of this in stride, rather than freaking out, as she expected her to. Maybe it was because they shared a skill, lockpicking. Or perhaps because of the scars the younger woman was trying to hide.

“Yes, they happen often. Sometimes not this bad, other times it's worse. It may be best if you alerted someone else, and have them with you, next time you try to wake me. Not Imoen, if at all possible. I don't like my sister to see me like this. Sir Keldorn and Valygar are used to it. If neither are available, then… Sarevok.”

Regardless of their feud, he knew better than anyone the content of her dreams, and she knew he would try to interrupt them if he could. He was also the only one strong enough to restrain her if she began to change in the Slayer.

Thinking of him made her wonder if he'd seen this nightmare. If he'd come back and fallen asleep. It was early, she'd only slept a few hours.

“Do you know if he, Sarevok, is here?”

“No, my lady. I haven't seen him.”

It made little difference. If he'd seen it, she was sure he'd let her know. She could use their soul to find him, to see if he was in his room, but she didn't want him to know she was thinking about him.

“Oh! My father said breakfast was ready.”

“Thank you, Chauntia.”

As she descended the stairs and headed toward the kitchen, where she preferred to eat when they weren't all gathered together to talk and plan, which was usually during dinner, she noticed how quiet it was. It was still raining, and it was dark, very early in the morning.

“Good morning, my lady,” Mezoar greeted her, his back to her as he finished making her plate.

“Good morning,” she replied, and slid onto the stool at the island.

“Ah, I was hoping to catch you,” Keldorn said from behind her as he entered the kitchen.

He looked like he'd just had a bath after a long night's sleep. How a man his age could rise this early, consistently, was beyond her. Not that he was _that_ old, but still. It irked her.

“Did you get those letters sent out yesterday?”

“I did,” he replied as he sat down across from her. “Thank Torm there was still a wagon waiting till the last minute to leave. _And_ it was bound for Athkatla.”

When Rana had gotten back home after her misadventure with Sarevok the day before last, she'd holed up in her room, writing letters to be sent out to some of her former companions, asking for help. Keldorn had returned with Chauntia and Mezoar, and the rest of that day had been spent getting to know them, discussing the terms of their employment contracts, and setting up a household account of funds to be used for food, supplies, and wages.

She wasn't able to finish the letters until yesterday evening, but thankfully, the paladin was willing to brave the rain to get them sent out, as he had his own he wanted to add. To his wife and daughters, she assumed.

So far, she'd managed to avoid whatever talk he wanted to have with her, one she wanted far less after the one with Jaheira, whom had made herself scarce since. The druid had taken on the form of a wolf to scout the woods around town, so she hadn't been in residence much.

Viconia had disappeared, but that was normal for her during extended downtime. She would turn up sooner or later, she always did.

Anomen had tried to talk with her several times, but she'd managed to avoid him for the most part. He must have gotten the hint because yesterday he said he would be at the Temple of Helm in town for awhile.

Haer'Dalis and Imoen were intolerable now, and part of the reason she stayed in her room most of the time. They were constantly touching, and laughing, and cracking jokes. It was good to see her sister happy, even with her misgivings about the relationship, but there were only so many serenades she could listen to before she got nauseous.

Valygar hadn't been around much either. Probably because he was out scouting with Jaheira, but no one was supposed to know that. From what Rana could gather, something had happened between those two the night she and Valygar had returned home drunk. However much they disagreed about Sarevok, they appeared to not be letting it affect them like it usually did, judging by the heated looks exchanged between them. It wouldn't last, Rana was almost positive, but it kept Jaheira out of her hair for now, and Valygar appeared happy.

Mezoar began setting plates before them, each filled with toast, fried eggs, and bacon. Another platter was added with slices of fresh fruit. Before she could ask, the man set her favorite coffee mug in front of her, and it appeared he'd added the cream and sugar already. Bringing the cup to her lips, she watched the Chultan smile a little at her gaze. He was obviously banking on his ability to replicate the way she likes her coffee. She tasted it.

“Sir Keldorn, I'm authorizing you to give Mezoar and Chauntia a raise.”

The paladin paused while buttering his toast, his lips rising at their corners. Mezoar gave her a grin, and bowed his head.

“As you command,” Keldorn replied before beginning to eat, trying to hide his smile that his leader was so easily affected by a cup of coffee.

“My thanks, my lady. Though, I am surprised that something so simple would engender such good will.”

“I've been stuck with these guys,” Rana jerked her head in Keldorn's direction, “for years, and none of them have been able to make my coffee the way I like it. Most gave up a long time ago. You've been with us what, almost two days?”

“In our defense, Rana, it defies the natural order of things to make coffee that milky and sweet. For some reason, we can't bring ourselves to defile a drink that much.”

Rana snorted, took another sip, and felt herself begin to relax a little. The father and daughter pair were obviously very skilled people, but they both seemed to possess an innate ability to bring about calm. Something Rana had so little of that the feeling was nearly intoxicating.

“So how long do you think until we get a response?”

“If the snows don't show up too early, and our comrades haven't headed to the far corners of the realm, perhaps two weeks for a return letter, and they could arrive in around the same time if they set out immediately rather than replying.”

“That gives us plenty of time to scout and prepare, anyway. I just hope the winter doesn't stall the war.”

“Indeed. This area can't afford a drawn out campaign. And the longer we wait, the easier it'll be for Sendai and Abazigal to find you and set traps.”

Spearing a quartered pear, she began to eat, hoping her stomach didn't rebel at her offering of food so shortly after the nightmare.

“Where is everyone?” She asked after awhile of them both eating in companionable silence.”

“Valygar got up early, at the same time I usually do, to check on a possible lead regarding the missing children. Jaheira returned some time last night from her explorations and will likely sleep late after shapeshifting so much lately. Let's see… Viconia has been absent, though I expect she'll turn up soon, likely once this rain has stopped. Our bard and your sister left last night after you retired to your room, saying they were going to spend the night at the Sawtooth Inn and will be back this afternoon. May the gods have mercy on those poor people there. Anomen is still at the Temple of Helm, he's been assisting the clerics there when he's not demonstrating his martial prowess to the town guard. He claims to be trying to help with their military training. And I haven't seen Sarevok since yesterday afternoon.”

“I saw him leave last night.”

“Oh? Did he say where he was going and when he'd be back?”

“No.”

Keldorn took a long drink of his coffee, seeming to mull that information over in his mind for a moment. Rana put her fork down, what little of her appetite was now gone. Picking up her drink, she began to watch Mezoar bustle about the kitchen, cleaning up from breakfast.

“You know I've been wanting to speak with you, child,” Keldorn eventually said, his voice quiet, yet somehow _almost_ scolding. “I know you've been through much this past week, which is why I've held my peace. I believe it's time to remedy that now.”

“How much of this has to do with Jaheira? I know you know about that. You know _everything_ that goes on between the rest of us.”

“Very little. Well, hearing about your argument hasn't influenced what I'd already planned to discuss, anyway. Though I believe she and I share similar concerns. Just as we disagree a fair bit, as well.”

“Alright, out with it. Let's get this over with.”

Keldorn gave her a critical look at that, but chose to let it go.

“First, I'd like to know more of what happened after we left the hot springs. I've already heard the story from Sarevok, but I'd like to hear it from you.”

“What did he say, exactly?” Rana asked, aiming for nonchalance and falling way short of it, she was sure.

She knew the paladin had taken an interest in Sarevok since his resurrection, and had been slowly, but diligently, trying to “turn him from his dark path”. Or whatever. What concerned her though, was how much the Deathbringer may have confided in the other man. Not that he was a sharer, far from it, but Rana knew how easy it was to bare one’s soul, so to speak, to Keldorn.

“He told me about the Slayer and the condition you were in after you'd used it. That was it. As you can tell, his rundown of it leaves a lot to be desired.”

“I got hit with crossbow bolts after that cleric interrupted my defensive enchantments. I was dying, so I figured I'd take as many of them with me as I could. Afterwards-”

“He glazed over the explanation of your reasoning behind letting that thing loose just as much as you're doing now. Tell me, please, in detail. Not just what happened during the fighting. But what happened between the two of you, as well.”

Rana's breath caught in her throat. Damn the Inquisitor's inquisitive nature.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. Very much.”

Rana sighed and downed the rest of her coffee.

“You know more than you're letting on.”

Keldorn smiled sadly at her.

“It's my job, child. I know you carry the weight of many, many secrets. I'm not asking for all of them. Only a few. And I'm not asking out of curiosity. I believe what's been transpiring between you and Sarevok will have far reaching consequences. Be they good or ill. Just as I believe that your past _will_ shape your future.”

“He told you,” she whispered. “About the temple. About our childhood.”

Gods, how much did he know? He made it sound as if he knew about the more intimate nature of their relationship, too, but how could he?

“Yes. He told me. Now, I'd like to know, specifically, _why_ you used the Slayer. And _how_ you didn't lose yourself to it when you were clearly too weak to control it, let alone come back from it.”

Rana wrapped her hands around her empty mug, needing something to hold onto. Only a few nights ago, she'd told Valygar everything. Viconia knew what was going on between her and Sarevok. Now, Keldorn wanted to know. She trusted Valygar. She mostly trusted the drow, but she knew she wouldn't say anything because her loyalties didn't extend very far past her goddess, and Rana. She trusted Keldorn, too, but...

The problem was that Valygar would listen, commiserate, give his opinions, then let it go. The paladin would offer insight. Would judge. He wouldn't hesitate to tell her unpleasant truths. She didn't know if she was ready to hear what kind of wisdom Keldorn could impart in regards to her and Sarevok.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, and noticing Mezoar had made himself scarce, she began.

“I wanted to try and get Sarevok out of the hot springs alive. He… he hasn't been alive that long, and he hasn't done anything since his resurrection to deserve death so soon. And I was already dying. I guess, in a way, I felt like it was my turn this time. To be the one to die.”

“You sound as if you feel guilty for his first death. That you felt you owed him that kind of sacrifice.”

“I do. I did. He shouldn't have died in Baldur's Gate. It was the bad timing. Roughly fifteen seconds and it could have been different.”

“What are you talking about, child?”

“Our memories.”

“Your memories? How do they…” Keldorn trailed off as it clicked into place, his face grave.

“Sarevok said Gorion had erased the memory of each other from the both of you. I didn't have time to ask him about how, or when, the two of you got them back. By Torm, Rana. It happened during that final battle?”

“Yes. He got his back in time to stop from making the killing blow. I got mine back just after making mine. When it was too late.”

“Who else knows of this?”

“Only Valygar.”

“Your sister doesn't? You never told her?”

Rana let out a hollow laugh.

“She despises him. How do you think she'd react if I told her he and I once shared something similar to what she and I did back in Candlekeep? That nearly everything was Gorion's fault? No, I never told her, and I don't plan on it. It hurts, learning someone you love has harmed you and someone you once cared about. And that someone you hate was once someone you loved, and you wouldn't have had to hate if it weren't for the other you loved.”

Rana realized she was rambling, but she didn't care. She knew Keldorn understood what she was trying to say. Before, when telling Valygar everything, she'd had the comfort of copious amounts of alcohol to help her remain detached. Sobriety forced her to feel too much.

“Alright. Now, how did you manage to escape the Slayer and change back?”

“Sarevok brought me back.”

“How?”

“With our soul.”

“' _Our_ ’ soul? It's interesting that you don't refer to it as _your_ soul. The piece within him is still yours.”

“No. It's not. Maybe if it had been just a piece, but he took more than that.”

“How much more?”

“Half. He has half my soul. Making it _our_ soul.”

_“By the gods, Ilyrana! You told us you gave him a small portion!”_

“I lied. He asked for just a piece, but he took half. Methinks he's come to regret his greed, though.”

Keldorn rubbed a hand over his face.

“Anything involving the soul, _the spirit,_ is sacred, Ilyrana. You've already had yours stolen _and_ dragged down to Hell. It's not supposed to be used as currency! I was aghast just at the thought of you bartering away any of it, but _half!?_ I'd wondered how he could have been revived so completely, without becoming undead, this has to be why.”

“It's mine to do with as I please.”

“No, girl, it's both of yours’ now, remember? I don't think you understand just what you've done. What you both have done.”

“No, I think we do.”

“Explain.”

Rana sighed, suddenly feeling much older than her twenty something years. Rising out of her stool, she went and made herself a fresh cup of coffee, then refilled Keldorn's before sitting back down.

“You wanted to know how Sarevok brought me back? He used his half to invade mine, found me where the Slayer had buried me, and dug me out again. When I was back at the helm, I was able to shift back.”

“I thank Torm he had the presence of mind to even _attempt_ something like. And that it worked. But, aren't you afraid he'll use that knowledge to do it again? For _anyone_ to have that kind of access to your _very being_ , is one thing, but for someone who's had so much hatred and bitterness toward you to have it… Rana, you're forever vulnerable to him now.”

“I'm sure he would be flattered that you assumed he hasn't already done it again.”

Keldorn looked as if he was about to get out of his seat, fetch Carsomyr, and hunt the Deathbringer down. She cared about the old paladin, so she made sure he didn't do just that.

“We can project words, images, impressions, and the like into each other's minds. We can synchronize our awareness so that we know exactly what the other is doing and is about to do. That's how we lasted as long as we did against that army. We can also find out where the other is at. And… and he can see my dreams.”

“And you believe that's the extent of it?”

“Pretty much.”

“You're likely wrong.”

“How so?”

“The soul isn't meant to be torn, or shared, or touched by anyone other than the gods. You split yours in half with another. What's the greatest distance that has separated the two of you since? A mile? Two? Rana, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that's about as far as you can get away from each other. Think about that for a moment. Assuming you survive this war, and I endeavor to make sure that happens, you're elven, and part god. You are going to live a very, very, long life. One that will almost certainly _have_ to have Sarevok in it until he dies. And, Rana… your soul is Elven. Your soul is of the _Seldarine._ I don't know if this occurred to you when you resurrected him, with _half_ your soul, but you gave him much more than just his life back. You gave him _immortality_. Or as close to it as most races are capable of.”

Rana looked at Keldorn, her eyes wide with shock.

“How did you… when… _how long have you known this?!”_

“I don't know it. Not for certain. Queen Elliseme may be able to confirm or deny it. And time will tell, assuredly.”

Unable to remain still, she hopped off the stool and began to pace, her nails digging into her palms as the weight of everything he just told her crashed against her.

They couldn't part. Not until one of them died. She could live for centuries, perhaps even _millennia_ , thanks to her divine blood. They could barely be around each other a few hours at a time without fighting.

_AND NOW I MAY BE STUCK WITH HIM FOR THE REST OF MY IMMORTAL LIFE?!_

“No, you're wrong. It can't work like that, Keldorn. _It can't!”_

“Rana, calm yourself. As I said, none of this is certain. It's merely a theory. The distance aspect can easily be tested. We can worry about his extended life once we determine how close the two of you need to stay. As well as what happens if you venture too far apart. There's time enough in the days ahead to learn more.”

Rana looked at him like he'd just suggested she move to a monastery and take up knitting.

“I'm just supposed to go about the rest of my day with this in my head? _Like I don't already have enough shit going on in there?!_ ”

“Easy, child. I will aid you in this. You know I will. Sit down, take a breath, and try to relax.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled up out of her throat. Sitting back down, she drew out the pins in her hair so she could run her fingers through it and squeeze, focusing on the feeling of her scalp being pulled on.

Keldorn topped off her coffee. Not even bothering to resweeten it, she began gulping it down, wishing it were wine or something stronger. His hand came to rest on her shoulder. She suddenly felt a wave of warmth flow through her, and it helped slow her racing heart.

“When I mentioned that Jaheira and I disagreed, much of it is over Sarevok. She refuses to see him as he is right now, in this moment in time. Instead, she still chooses to see him as he was before. Maybe she will turn out to be right. That he was the same all along. Or maybe…  the way he was died with him. He may have held onto his twisted notions of power, and his disregard for the lives of others, in the beginning, at least. But, I believe that he has been shaken to his very core. By you.”

Rana looked at him. Sarevok wasn't the only one to have everything turned upside down. She was beginning to think that her life would always be a series of tumbling end over end, never able to find and keep her footing.

“Now. It doesn't take my abilities as an Inquisitor to see that you two are connected. By fate. By your past. And by _both_ of your choices to be that way. You care for him. And he for you. You may not want to admit it out loud, and I'm sure he doesn't either, but it's obvious to one who pays attention.”

“Please tell me this is the part where you caution me to stay away from him,” she whispered, her voice almost pleading. “Tell me we're going to destroy each other. That an unstoppable force and an immovable object cancel each other out. _Please.”_

Keldorn reached out and smoothed her hair behind her ear. His eyes were full of understanding, though she couldn't possibly comprehend why.

“Rana, rarely does fate ever put two people in each other's path for no reason. And _never_ does it do so as many times as it has with you and him. You won't like to hear this, but, I feel, deep down, that only you can bring him back. Only you can lead him out of the darkness, at least as far as he is able and willing to go, but gray is a far better place than the alternative, I think. I also believe that, before this war is over, and the prophecy has come to pass, you will need him. For what, I do not know. But, were I you, I would let fate reveal it's design before crying unfairness over the future. Patience, child. And faith. Always have faith.”

“He wants me to become a goddess. So he can be my right hand.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he only thinks he wants that, because that's what the old Sarevok would want. His will is stronger than most I have ever seen, but Rana, I want you to remember that yours was forged from the same flame as his own. Show him you will not be broken, and perhaps… _perhaps_ he may learn to bend.”

She didn't realize she was crying until he gently wiped her tears away. Sniffling, and hating herself for it, she resumed inhaling her coffee, needing the warmth it provided. They didn't speak again for some time, both lost in their own thoughts. It was Rana who broke the silence.

“I overheard you, Valygar, and Sarevok talking about Anomen the other day. What was that about?”

“Anomen had a confrontation with Valygar about keeping you out at a bar all night. He pretended his anger was due to our worry over your whereabouts. It was, however, due to his jealousy that Valygar spent so much time with you. Or perhaps I should say, that you spent so much time with Valygar, when you don't spend time with Anomen.”

“Valygar is my closest friend, after Imoen. Anomen is a friend, and he'll never be more than that.”

“The other men believe he's unstable. That he poses a threat not just to others, but to you, most importantly. I was going to speak of this to you sooner, but I've already addressed it, and thought it best to wait and see.”

“Addressed it how?”

“I spoke with him. I told him his conduct has been unacceptable, and should it continue, I will order him to return to Athkatla. I also told him that I forbid him to imbibe for the remainder of this journey, as it seems to be clouding his judgment and making it harder for him to control his temper. He wasn't happy about it, but he acquiesced. If his behavior doesn't improve, you and I will have to decide the best course of action.”

“I see. Well, right now, I have more than enough on my plate, so I hope his time at the Temple of Helm does him some good.”

“As do I.”

Rana gazed out the window above the kitchen sinks, watching the rain continue to steadily fall. She suddenly felt exhausted. Not surprising considering how little she'd slept, the nightmare, that fucking hallucination or whatever the Hell that was that followed, and this conversation.

She thought about telling him about the incident with the mirror. Giving voice to it though would make it more real, so she settled on a slightly different topic.

“You haven't mentioned how you feel about me being evil.”

“I don't believe you're evil, Rana. Evil comes in all shapes, sizes, and flavors. What is evil to the fly, is life to the spider. Everyone defines it differently. Mayhaps it's the blood that saturates your soul. Or the taint. But I do not look at you, with my Torm given sight, and see you as evil.”

“I saw it in your face that day-”

“Everyone's faith gets tested, child. Even mine.”

“You have an answer for everything, don't you?” Rana huffed.

Keldorn chuckled, and whatever his reply was, it was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing. They fell silent, straining to hear who had come home. The cadence of the footsteps retreating up the stairs told her Sarevok had finally returned. She looked at the paladin.

“I will not say anything about what we spoke of to anyone. I promise you.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“You are most welcome, child.”

After taking a few minutes to finish her coffee, Rana made her way back to her room, feeling bruised and raw, and couldn't help but think about how complicated her life kept becoming. For every hurt, there were two more right around the corner. Every heartbreak carried the promise of more to come.

They had spoken of centuries. Of millennia. The thought of living that long made her ache in her very bones, as if they could imagine the weight of so much suffering. It almost didn't matter if she and Sarevok couldn't go far from each other, or that he could potentially live that many years, as well. She would die long before that became an issue. Remembering the dream, she vowed she would make sure of it. She refused to endure this any longer than she had to.

Pushing her door open, she trudged wearily into her room, turned around to close it, and rested her forehead against the wood. Closing her eyes, she felt the tears well up and threaten to spill over.

She was just _so tired._ Of _everything._ Keldorn may have meant well, but after walking away from him, the reality of their conversation had sunk in and she wanted to curl up on the floor and waste away. Anything to escape the nightmare of her life.

What was there to look forward to? More killing. More death. More pain. More sacrifices. More nightmares. Imoen had been her north star for as long as she could remember. What would happen if she lost her? What would Rana do if Imoen no longer needed _her_?

Wiping at her eyes, she turned toward her bed, and the wine bottles beside it, intent on drinking until she blacked out.

There was a movement in the middle of her red sheets. She froze, staring at the tiny, dark shape that had stirred at the sound of her sniffling. Luminous green eyes opened and blinked sleepily at her. A small sound escaped Rana's throat, it may have been a gasp, or a whimper, or a sob.

Trying not to move too fast, not wanting to scare the little thing, she went to her bed and gingerly sat down on the edge. Patting her lap, she waited while the kitten decided if she was safe or not.

Her heart began to pound harder and harder. This time though, it wasn't unpleasant. Slowly, it began inching toward her. When it stretched out its neck until the tip of its tiny nose touched her finger, she went as still as a statue. Curious sniffing turned into soft, rumbling purrs. It rubbed its head against her hand, offering no resistance when she scratched behind its ears before picking it up and holding it against her chest. A quick look told her it was a boy.

She looked down at the fluffy gray kitten, with his bobtail, and his impossibly large emerald eyes, and he looked up at her. His paws began to knead her arm, claws lightly pricking her skin as they extended then retracted then extended again. His purrs grew louder.

It was love at first sight.

Burying her face in his slightly damp fur, feeling his small body vibrate with the intensity of his purring, the tears came again, but quietly, and briefly.

“Where did you come from, little one?” She asked it, running a finger over the edges of his ears, making him kick at them with his back legs.

He blinked at her, and merely replied with a squeaky “ _merp”._

That sound immediately made her smile.

Holding him close, which he seemed not to mind at all as he rubbed against her neck with his head, she started to rise from the bed when she saw the note lying on her nightstand.

The handwriting was instantly recognizable, even if the words weren't from this angle. How many hours had she spent pouring over his diary, searching for answers, back in Baldur's Gate?

Her hand shook a little as she reached out to pick it up, and her chest tightened when the kitten swiped at it playfully with a paw.

There was only a single sentence. She read it once, and huffed. She read it a second time, and started to laugh.

_If you name him something foolish, woman, I will put him back where I found him, I swear._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chauntia and Mezoar are mine.
> 
> I totally didn't reveal who all Rana wrote to on purpose. Mostly because it's a surprise! Also because I'm not entirely sure who's coming yet haha
> 
> Next chapter, Rana will demonstrate how well she follows instructions. By trying to ignore them. Sarevok really should know better by now.


	19. Half

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter hijacked by the characters. I'd intended to advance the plot, but certain someones insisted on delaying just a little bit longer. Anyway, I had no idea the second half of this chapter was going to happen, but Sarevok is clearly up to something. Consider this the calm before the storm I guess?
> 
> Content Warning: Excessive flirting

 

Rana woke from her nap feeling quite a bit better than she did after waking up earlier this morning. Stretching until her joints popped, which left her briefly lying in a boneless heap while she considered drifting back off to sleep, she started patting around her blankets until she felt the warm ball of fur that was her new bed partner. There had been a little fear that her gift had been the product of another cruel dream.

The tiny kitten stretched and yawned before peering into her face and making that “ _merp_ ” sound again, which had her smiling like a lovestruck fool.

“Hungry? Okay, let's get up and find you some vittles.”

Crawling out of bed, and shivering once the wintery air hit her, she ran her fingers through her hair before beginning to braid it over one shoulder. Glancing at the fireplace, she thought about how pleasant it would be to sit in front of the warm hearth in the evenings, with her kitten curled up in her lap, purring contently. The daydream almost made her sigh with longing.

“So, what are we going to call you?” She asked it while she finished with her hair. “Sarevok's instructions were pretty vague, did he mean _his_ definition of foolish? Or mine? Cause if it's his, then you're just not gonna have a name. So we'll pretend it's my definition, which means anything is acceptable because I'm not a snarly killjoy like he is.”

It _did_ occur to her that she was carrying on a rather lively dialogue with a creature who could not talk back. Though, considering who had gifted her with the animal, was it really all that surprising that she found the lack of snarky responses to be refreshing?

“Could call you Bob, because you're a bobtail, but that's boring and unoriginal. How about… Dibbles. You look like a Dibbles to me. What do you think?”

“ _Merp.”_

“I thought so, too. Great minds think alike.”

Throwing on a black sweater that had holes in the front for her hands, and now would serve as transport for her friend, Rana picked him up and slipped him into the pockets. He immediately poked his head out, looked up at her, mewed, then ducked inside to curl up and purr.

“Of course, being the cutest creature alive means your name should have a bit more _oomph._ So, how about _Sir_ Dibbles? Of Purrington. Yes, that's _purr_ fect.”

Chuckling at her own lame pun, she stepped out of her room and right into Chauntia.

“I was just coming up to tell you lunch is ready.”

“Thanks, Chauntia. Hey, do you think your dad would mind setting out a bowl of whatever meat we have, and milk? We have an extra mouth to feed.”

Before the girl could ask, she pulled out the kitten. Chauntia's beautiful green eyes lit up and Rana couldn't help but smile.

“Where did you get it?” She asked excitedly, stroking the little cat's head and cooing softly to him.

“It was a present. And, I think, an apology.”

“From… Sarevok?” The girl asked, glancing up at Rana, then back down, as if afraid she shouldn't have said that.

Rana studied her for a moment, brow furrowed.

“How did you know?”

“Well… earlier, after I cleaned up the glass from the broken mirror, I forgot that I'd left the broom in your room. As I was walking away after retrieving it, I heard him coming up the stairs, and saw him go in your room for a minute and then leave and go to his.”

“I'm not entirely sure yet if I'm going to say where this little guy came from, so I'd appreciate it if you helped keep it a secret for now.”

“Of course, my lady!”

“Thanks. It's complicated. As you may have noticed already, there's a lot of… history, between most of us. It comes with all of us being together for years, usually in life or death situations, and the varying backgrounds, beliefs, and personalities. And that's putting it mildly and leaving out even more to save your sanity.”

Chauntia ducked her head, laughing a little at that.

“Well, even if I hadn't seen him, he still would have been my first guess. With the priest of Helm coming in a close second, and the ranger a distant third.”

Rana noticed the girl fidget and avoid her eyes when mentioning Valygar.

“Why would you have known it was him?”

“Well, I can tell there's a lot of anger between you, but the one time you were both in the dining room, sometime yesterday, you couldn't stop looking at each other when you thought the other wasn't paying attention.”

“Not only can you pick locks, but you're also incredibly observant,” Rana noted, tilting her head to study the girl more closely. “Maybe, if you don't mind, when neither of us have anything to do, you could tell me a little more of your time on the road with your father.”

Chauntia looked both nervous and pleased by this. If anyone else had interviewed the pair, Rana would begin to become concerned about their motivations for working here. She trusted Keldorn's sense of people, though. The Inquisitor wasn't revered among his Order for nothing, and if he said they were alright, then she had no cause for worry.

“I would like that, mistress. Very much.”

Rana tucked the kitten back into her pocket and she and Chauntia descended the stairs and headed towards the dining room, where Mezoar had laid out lunch.

Keldorn was already seated and eating. Jaheira was just rising from the table. Both women paused a heartbeat when they looked at one another, before Rana took a seat across from Keldorn and the druid thanked Mezoar and started to leave the room.

Jaheira paused again when Sarevok entered, looking tired. Rana watched the Deathbringer walk past her as if she weren't there. She couldn't see the Harper's face, but tension radiated out from her, her disapproval of his very existence evident in the way she held herself.

Chauntia motioned for her father to follow her into the kitchen, presumably to discuss the newest member of the family's lunch. Rana made a small plate for herself from the platters laid out on the table.

Sarevok sat one chair down from the paladin and looked at her. If it were anyone else, she would call the look in his face “expectant”. Then again, she _was_ beginning to learn how to decipher the nuances of his default scowl, as well as the arrogance or disdain that he chose to exude when it suited his mood.

She tried to hold his gaze with one of absolute neutrality, because she wanted him to sweat a little. When her kitten squirmed and resettled himself into a more comfortable position within her sweater pockets, however, she failed utterly by smiling.

There was a brief flash of victory in his eyes before the smug arrogance took over. It was a good look on him, she found herself noticing with annoyance. Maybe it was because there wasn't anything _overtly_ sinister about it compared to other times. It could also have something to do with the fact that his eyes had begun to glow a little as he stared at her.

“Those are some impressive scratches on your arms, Sarevok.” Rana drawled in an attempt to swat away the butterflies trying to take wing in her stomach.

_Damnit I will not allow a present to make me forget what he's after! Or how hateful he's been! I don't care how cute and fluffy it is!_

“Small price to pay for acquiring something of value.”

“I was under the impression that you didn't think certain things _had_ any value.”

Keldorn looked from Rana, to Sarevok, then back to Rana, eyes narrowing as he tried to read between the lines, obviously knowing something was going on.

“While it's rare, I _can_ be mistaken at times,” he replied, and she couldn't keep her eyes from rolling. “Especially when the thing of value can be used to purchase something of even greater value.”

“Oh? Such as?”

He was gravely mistaken if he thought she was going to just hop in bed with him after this. Sir Dibbles was adorable, and while he evened the scales a little, he definitely didn't tip them all the way over in Sarevok's favor.

“Another chance.”

The butterflies ignored her and began mercilessly fluttering anyway.

She would have wondered what Keldorn was making of all this if she wasn't finding herself being pulled in by those golden eyes. Like so many times before. He looked sincere, but the heat in them was impossible not to notice. Not to _feel._

His half of their soul brushed against hers and withdrew. He didn't try to trap her or make any demands. It felt almost like a caress. Like he'd only wanted to touch her, to remind himself what she felt like.

“Here we go,” Chauntia announced cheerily, breaking the tension, as she placed a small plate of finely diced cooked chicken and a shallow bowl of milk down next to Rana's elbow.

It warmed her that the girl was giving Dibbles his own place at the dining table.

Withdrawing the ball of sleepy warmth from within her sweater, she gave Keldorn a look that said “say something, I dare you”, then decided to direct it at Sarevok, too, for good measure, and placed the kitten down in front of his lunch.

Both men stared at her, and she felt Chauntia shift a little to stand behind, and to the side of Rana, as if she were silently stepping up to the line to defend the kitten's right to a spot at the table. Keldorn chuckled. Sarevok shook his head, a faint smile trying to win against the stoic indifference he was attempting to project.

The women shot a triumphant look at one another before turning to watch the kitten eat, purring happily while he alternated between the chicken and the milk, as if he couldn't decide which one to devour first.

“Have you thought up a name yet?” Sarevok asked as he began to eat as well.

Before she could reply, the kitten jerked its head up in response to his voice, then took two bounding leaps across the table to throw himself against his arm. Rana covered her mouth in an effort to stifle a laugh at not only the cat, but also the look on Sarevok's face as he froze in shock and stared down at the creature who was obviously very happy to see him.

“Shoo,” he growled, trying to nudge the animal back towards Rana.

She did absolutely nothing to assist him.

Dibbles’s purring intensified as he delicately sniffed at the scratches on the man's arm before beginning to lick them.

Rana finally collapsed into a fit of helpless giggles when Sarevok cast her a pleading look for help. No doubt he feared hurting him in an attempt to remove him. The man's hands were twice the size of the kitten. She suddenly realized how hard it must have been to not only catch him, but to do so without crushing him. Chauntia wisely chose that moment to go help her father with the dishes, her hand over her mouth and her shoulders shaking with silent laughter as she left.

Keldorn rose from the table, obviously done with his meal, clapped a hand on Sarevok's shoulder in sympathy, and started to depart as well. But not before giving Rana a knowing smile that made her want to throw something at him.

“I would aid you, but I'm allergic to cats,” the paladin said before disappearing, leaving Rana to wonder if he'd just told his first lie as an excuse to make himself scarce.

“Rana, call him off!”

“Alright, alright, you big baby,” she sniggered. “I should have known affection would make you this uncomfortable.”

She leaned over to pluck the kitten away and set him back down at his food.

“It depends on the type of affection and on the one giving it,” he shot back, giving her a meaningful look that threatened to excite the butterflies all over again.

Shaking her head at him, she poured herself a glass of wine and picked at the bread on her plate, ignoring the cold cuts and cheese.

“You need to eat.”

“Don't start.”

“Rana, if we're suddenly besieged,” he began to talk louder when she rolled her eyes at that. “You'll need your strength not only to fight, but to call upon the Slayer should it be needed.”

“So, how come you only got me the one?” She asked, trying to change the subject.

“The one what?”

“Kitten. There were four in that alley.”

“Women. Complaining that there was only a single gift when there could have been more.”

“You didn't answer the question. And my gender is irrelevant here. Everyone likes presents, be it one or several, and it stands to reason that several is always better than one.”

“In this case, one was more than enough trouble to capture. I was up half the night and part of this morning chasing them around, trying not to have my eyes clawed out while also making sure not to hurt them. _Why are you laughing?”_

“I'm sorry,” she said, sounding anything but apologetic. “I wish I could have seen that.”

“Hmph. Well, that one was the runt of the litter, so I tried to avoid grabbing him, but he was the only one who let me get close.”

“What's wrong with runts?”

He opened his mouth to respond, looked her up and down, closed his mouth, cleared his throat, then answered.

“Nothing. I didn't mean to offend you.”

“Ass. Just because I'm not freakishly overgrown doesn't mean I'm a runt.”

“I _am_ surprised that you hardly did any growing at all, considering how much you starved me when we were children.”

Rana started to get angry until she realized he was teasing her.

“Hey, you didn't have to give me so much of the food you stole. You coulda saved some for yourself.”

“At which point you would have smelled it on me and I would have been bitten and elbowed to death. I can't fathom how I wasn't stunted because of you.”

“You'll have to excuse me if I don't feel sorry for you.”

“Anyway, I figured that there's three of the damn things left, to my knowledge, so it would be to my advantage if I left them for the next time I incur your wrath.”

“You have standby kittens for when you slip up and act like a bigger dick than usual?”

“Precisely.”

Rana felt a little panicked at the thought of getting kittens every time he said something cruel. It's really hard to stay mad when you're drowning in a sea of meowing furballs.

_Focus, girl._

“So, what are you going to start getting me once you run _out_ of kittens? Cause, let's face it, that's gonna happen in no time.”

“I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

“Well, at least you're preparing for the inevitable. That's smart.”

“I don't look forward to going back out there and hunting them down again, so I have some incentive to keep my temper on a tighter leash.”

“Uh huh. We'll see how long that lasts.”

“Indeed we will. Now, did you honor my condition or am I going to have to return him to his siblings?”

Rana looked at her kitten. Milk ran down his chin and dripped onto the table. His little tummy was distended from inhaling the entire plate of chicken Mezoar had prepared for him.

Looking back at Sarevok, and holding his gaze, she slowly reached out, picked up the cat, and enfolded him in her arms, where he immediately began purring and kneading at the soft material of her sweater.

The warrior's eyes narrowed suspiciously at her.

“Rana. _What_ did you _name_ him?”

“A very strong and masculine name that he loves and does not wish to change.”

“ _Rana.”_

_“Sarevok.”_

“Tell me his name.”

“If I don't?”

“I'll learn of it eventually. You might as well tell me now before you grow too attached.”

_Too late there._

Quietly, she shifted her legs under the table until she was in a good enough position to spring away should she need to. If he thought he was going to take Dibbles away, he had another thing coming.

“His name…” She tightened her grip on her kitten. “Is Sir Dibbles of Purrington.”

For two entire seconds, neither moved, just stared at one another. Then Sarevok made to rise, and Rana exploded into motion.

Just as she was almost out of the dining room, Sarevok caught her from behind, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back against him.

“I have to applaud you on your gall for not only trying to get away with a name like that, but to actually say it to me, as well.” He said softly into her ear.

“We can throw down right now, Sarevok, you aren't taking him away. Fight me.”

She didn't know exactly what his response would be to her declaration of war, but she definitely didn't expect him to laugh. Her kitten, who had merely clung tighter to her during the attempted escape, resumed his purring and wiggled a little to get comfortable in her arms.

“It pleases me that you like your gift so much that it's made you take leave of your senses to the point you would challenge me while I already hold every advantage.”

“Not _every_ advantage. You're not going to jeopardize your new chance this early by forcing me to surrender him.”

“Ah, so you acknowledge that another chance has been given.”

“Wait, no, that's not-”

“By accepting him, little one, you accepted what he stood for, as well as tacitly agreeing to my _one_ condition.”

Rana huffed. She should have expected him to fight dirty.

“Fine. I'll reconsider his name.”

“Thank you for upholding your end of the bargain. Though, I must confess that I wrote down that stipulation _knowing_ you would ignore it. So, I suppose I never actually intended to go through with my threat to take him back.”

“You ass!”

She pushed on his arm and he reluctantly let her go. Whirling around to face him, her angry tirade died on her lips when she looked up into his eyes and saw the hunger burning in them.

“Put the cat down, Rana,” he said quietly and took a step closer to her.

As if he'd understood, the little gray kitten lept out of her arms before she could decide if she wanted to comply or not. Galloping loudly to her chair, he jumped up onto it, then back onto the table to lick up stray droplets of milk.

Without any preamble, Sarevok snatched her by her nape and pulled her against him, his other hand wrapping around her hip.

“Now. You know how I feel about you not wanting to ascend,” he murmured against her neck. “That hasn't changed.”

She wanted to reply, but she couldn't. His thumb brushed back and forth over her hip bone, beneath her sweater. His lips brushed her throat teasingly, making her legs weak.

“I do... apologize, though, for the rest.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Sarevok?” She asked, hating that her voice sounded husky.

“You should be more concerned with what I'm going to do with _you_.”

It scared her how easily he broke through her defenses. How quickly he could make her forget everything. There was a shred of comfort in the knowledge, though, that he wasn't consistently like this. Gods help her if he was.

“Tell me you forgive me,” he whispered when he drew back enough to look her in the eyes.

Because it was a command, she found it fairly easy to dig in her heels and resist telling him what he wanted to hear. He grinned at her sudden look of stubbornness, as if he'd expected it. She tried to ignore how devastating an effect that had on her.

“Three little words, Rana,” he told her, his lips brushing tauntingly against hers.

She bit his bottom lip.

He froze, completely caught off guard. She released him, but her smirk of victory was wiped away when he groaned and yanked her into a harsh, demanding kiss.

His hunger was palpable in the way his hands drug her closer to him, until their bodies were pressed tightly enough together that she could feel his heart hammering in his chest. She whimpered into his mouth when she felt him hard against her abdomen, and she didn't know if she should be tantalized or terrified at the size of him.

It was as if he couldn't have her close enough, but she could tell he was trying to hold back, to not lose himself completely. She wanted him to, though. They couldn't be on even ground if she was the only one losing her footing. Then again, teasing him would do neither of them any favors.

Rana told herself to just enjoy this moment. She deserved something that felt good after her talk with Keldorn, and the dream, and that incident in the bathroom earlier this morning.

The sound of the front door opening, and her sister's voice, made her reflexively try to step away, to end the kiss. Sarevok tightened his hold on her.

“Say the words, little one,” he growled, eyes glowing down at her, his breaths heaving.

“Never,” she whispered back stubbornly, panting.

“Very well. We'll see what your sister has to say when she walks in here and sees us.”

Panic shot through her, and she tried to wiggle out of his grip.

“Do that again and I'll take you right here,” he groaned, his voice nearly hoarse with need.

Imoen and Haer'Dalis's footsteps grew closer.

“Okay! Okay! You're forgiven! Now let me go or I'll start biting again!”

“Ah, little one, we need to work on your threats, if that's what that was supposed to be,” he chuckled, but he stepped away and turned to go back to his seat at the table.

Taking a deep breath, trying to settle her body down, she sat back down as well, grabbing up the kitten, needing something to hold onto.

“Your eyes are going to give you away, pet.”

“You don't have to sound so damn smug,” she hissed.

“There will come a time, very soon, where we won't be interrupted. If I sound smug, it's only because I'm feeling confident that without these lackwits constantly getting in my way, you'll be mine. And once you are…”

He trailed off and Rana wanted to strangle him, but because she didn't know if that was due to how much he was _not_ helping her get control, or because she wanted to know what else he was going to say, she settled on just glaring at him instead.

“Oh, hey you,” Imoen's cheery voice sounded from behind her, and Rana turned to smile in greeting.

“We just got back from… _EEK! Where did that come from?!”_

Imoen's squeal made Sarevok wince, which pleased Rana. Bounding toward her sister, Imoen extricated the cat from her reluctant grip and began fawning over him.

“Where did you get him?! Nevermind, what's his name?! Awww babe, I want a kitten!”

“Anything your heart desires, my wildflower.”

Rana couldn't decide if the tiefling’s immediate willingness to give Imoen what she wanted made her envious or nauseous. A sound of disgust from behind her told her what Sarevok thought of it.

“His name is still… undecided. Kind of,” Rana admitted, sounding as if she were forced to say those words under pain of death.

“Oh, let me name him! Please!”

Rana huffed. He was _hers._ But, she supposed, naming him would distract her sister from how she came to have the kitten.

“Go ahead.”

“Well… he _is_ a bobtail. Bob? No, too obvious. He's gray. Ash? Dusty? And he's _really_ floofy. Hmmm.”

“There's plenty of time to come up with something now that we're back at the Rookery.”

Rana slowly turned her gaze to the bard.

“What did you just call my home?”

“ _Our_ home,” Imoen amended.

“The Rookery! My Raven, tis a perfect moniker for your roost. Your clever sister and I thought of it while we were making our way home, as there are a good many of the birds nesting in the trees. And, as I'm sure you are aware, the rook is a member of the same family as the raven, my Raven.”

“No. Absolutely not. We are _not_ calling my house that. How did-”

“ _Rook!_ That's his name!” Imoen exclaimed.

“ _Merp!_ ”

“No! Damnit, it's insulting to name a cat after a bird! It'd be like getting a wolfhound and naming him Kitten. No, I forbid it.”

“Awww, you old stick in the mud. Look, I think he likes the name. Do you want to be called Rook?”

“ _Merp!_ ”

The kitten purred and licked at Imoen's hand.

“Hah! It's decided then!”

“He's not old enough to know what he wants,” Rana snarled, taking her cat back and glaring at the couple.

“What name were you thinking of then?”

“Sir Dibbles.”

They all looked at the cat, who was staring up at Rana. Quietly.

“Doesn't look like he likes that name,” Sarevok said, and her elbow tingled.

“But he likes Rook.”

“ _Merp!_ ”

“I hate you all.”

“Aww don't be such a sore loser, sis. Here, check out this cloak I bought in town earlier.”

Imoen pulled out a plain gray cloak made of a scratchy woolen material from her bag and handed it to her. It felt like carpet.

“Um… it's… hideous? I hope you didn't blow the rest of your savings on this.”

“Not _all_ of it. I have a few gold left,” Imoen replied, grinning at her sister's stern expression. “And it's _supposed_ to be hideous. It makes its wearer undetectable. Even by magic! Imagine how much ass I can kick while I'm stealthin’ through ranks of enemy mages and clerics.”

Rana examined the garment again, this time with a lot more interest.

“Have you tested it?”

“Not yet. I was thinking of seeing if I could sneak into Keldorn's room and steal Carsomyr or his wedding ring without him noticing me. If _he_ can't detect me, then no one can.”

“That’s just what you need,” she heard Sarevok mutter sarcastically under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear, and possibly Haer'Dalis, too, judging by the sudden grin on the bard’s face.

“I'll buy it off you,” Rana said, trying to mentally tally how much gold she had on her… then hoping Imoen hadn't paid more than fifty-seven for it, 'cause that's about all she had.

“Hah! Not so hideous now is it? I'm not selling it, but I may be tempted to trade it for Rook.”

“Not happening.”

“Well, okay then, no cloak for you.”

Rana rolled her eyes and started feeding bits of cheese to Rook, still grumpy about his name.

Chauntia walked in, bearing a pitcher of wine to replace with the empty one at the table. While Imoen and Haer'Dalis sat down to eat, Rana glanced up at Sarevok to see him gazing thoughtfully at the cloak now draped over the chair next to her sister. When he noticed her looking at him, he spoke.

“I just remembered the gold I had hidden away in Baldur's Gate. I can't recall how much it was, but it should still be there.”

Rana stilled, then dropped her eyes and began feeding her kitten with much more intent and focus than it required. A cold sweat broke out when Sarevok noticed her sudden quiet.

“Rana… tell me you didn't find it and take it.”

She cleared her throat and glanced at her sister, who was smirking triumphantly at the man. He noticed.

“ _Rana_ . _Did you steal my gold?”_

“Is it stealing if you were already dead? I mean, how was I supposed to know you'd be coming back? I figured you wouldn't be needing it anymore, and it would have been a shame to just leave it.”

Sarevok closed his eyes and took a deep breath, obviously putting in some effort not to lose his temper. She would be willing to bet that he didn't expect to have it tested so soon.

“ _How. Much?”_

“Pardon?”

_“How much gold was there?”_

“Oh. Um… an amount?”

He just looked at her.

“Uh, like…” she coughed and mumbled the answer.

_“Pardon?”_

She huffed and repeated it just as quietly.

_“Rana-”_

“Two hundred thousand!” Imoen exclaimed gleefully.

The room went quiet. It felt like the silence preceding the breaking of a storm.

“ _What did you spend it on?”_ He asked through clenched teeth.

“Huh? Oh, nothing actually. I just put it into a hidden spot of my own.”

He looked like he wanted to soul search her to see if she was being serious.

“I forgot about your little magpie hoards. How many are there now?” Imoen asked with a mouth full of food.

“Like four.”

“ _Like_ four? You don't know?” Sarevok asked incredulously.

“I _do_ know. But that's not information I'm just gonna give away.”

“How much gold _do_ you have?”

“An amount,” she replied stubbornly.

“Fine. You can subtract _my_ two hundred thousand from that _amount_ , because you're taking me to it when this is all over.”

“ _Am_ I? I'm pleased you think I'll still be around. Ya know, _un_ ascended and all.”

He glared at her.

“I misspoke-”

“Uh huh.”

“-you can mark it on a map.”

“ _Can_ I? What if I can't remember _exactly_ where I hid it? Or what traps I set to keep it safe? Sure would suck if you couldn't find it and you didn't get any help  'cause I'd be too busy goddessing and all.”

He gave her the kind of murderous look that could make hardened war veterans lose their bladders.

She smiled coyly back at him.

“Alright,” he said after a moment, his tone oddly calm. “How much did this house, _the Rookery,_ cost you?”

Rana felt like she'd just tripped over her own feet.

“Why?”

“You owe me two hundred thousand gold. You can't repay it because it's not here. And it obviously won't be forthcoming anytime soon. I will accept your half of this estate as collateral until my gold has been returned.”

“ _Now wait just a damn minute-”_ Rana yelled, shooting to her feet.

Haer'Dalis roared with laughter and even Imoen chuckled at this turn of events.

“Do you have two hundred thousand gold on you?”

“No! But my half of the price for this place doesn't even equal that!”

“Was it more?”

“No-”

“Then I'm afraid I'll need part of Imoen's half as well.”

“ _Now, hold on-”_ Imoen shouted, rising from her chair as well.

Haer'Dalis was doubled over, holding his stomach, laughing so hard that barely any noise came out of him.

“I know _you_ don't have two hundred thousand, because you kindly informed us of how broke you are a few moments ago. I'm willing to accept only Rana’s portion, though, if you won't put up a fight about me owning half of your home. I can be reasonable.”

Rana sputtered, looking back and forth from a thoughtful Imoen to a cocky Sarevok.

“Alright. Mine and Haer'Dalis's room is in my half, as well as the dining room and the sitting room on the west side.”

“ _Imoen!”_

“Sorry, sis. At least this way he doesn't own like three fourths of this place. Half ain't so bad.”

Rana snarled at Sarevok’s meaningful look.

“No, half isn't so bad,” he agreed, clearly not just talking about the house.

Scooping up a bloated Rook, who had been attempting to clean her plate, Rana gave the three traitors a death glare before turning to walk out.

“Where are you going?” Sarevok called after her.

She didn't answer, just stormed towards the stairs. After ascending them, she stomped to the door to her room, but was pulled back before she could open it.

“Ah ah, little one,” he chided her. “This is _my_ room now, remember?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I didn't see that coming at all, and I have no idea where he's going with it.


	20. The Ties that Bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, let me just say that I'm so happy to be back and posting again! Also, to have the holidays well behind me, I hope everyone's was pleasant and I wish you all the happiest of New Years!
> 
> Okay, so this chapter is LOOOONG. Like 14,000 words or so long. Which is partly why it took forever. I didn't want to split it up because every time I tried, it broke the momentum and I started to second guess what I've been planning to write. It briefly touches on several events that happened in earlier chapters, both as a refresher and because certain things are starting to come back to bite Rana. Additionally, I really struggled with the very last part of this chapter, because I wasn't sure how descriptive to be. I eventually stopped biting my nails over it and just wrote it out, and I hope it works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I need to post another content warning for explicit sexual material. As if the E rating, tags, and previous chapters don't already speak for themselves, but this chapter particularly needs a reminder, I guess, as it is quite a bit more mature than what I've already written.

**Chapter 20: The Ties that Bind**

 

_Ilyrana_

 

Throwing down another empty quiver, Rana picked up a fresh one, her last, she noted. Clipping it onto her belt so that it hung from her right hip, she resumed firing at the tree stump behind her home. The dead wood was now peppered with too many shafts to count.

Her arm burned, and her back ached, but it was a welcome discomfort, a familiar one. It made thinking difficult, which is why she was out here, wasting arrows.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rook pounce on some hoppy bug in the grass, then proceed to bat at it with his paw until it jumped away, giving him an excuse to leap after it.

An arrow with striped brown fletching suddenly joined the mass of black feathered projectiles in the stump. Rana turned her head and saw Valygar give her a small smile as he moved up beside her, bow in hand.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Not with me, no.”

“I'm fine.”

Valygar snorted and shook his head, firing off another arrow in tandem with her.

“Because you didn't immediately ask if something was wrong with someone else, and automatically assumed I was referring to you, you obviously aren't 'fine’. Haer'Dalis mentioned something about Sarevok and you getting into it yesterday. He couldn't stop laughing long enough to give me a satisfactory explanation, though, so I'm gonna assume it wasn't anything serious.”

“Haer'Dalis can keep his big mouth shut if he doesn't want me sewing it closed in the middle of the night. Be kinda hard to sing Imoen love sonnets then.”

“If anyone else just said that, I would assume they were jealous of Imoen.”

Rana lowered her bow, arrow still knocked, and glared at her friend.

“I am _not_ jealous that she has a bard supplying her with background music everywhere she goes. Silence trumps warbling every day.”

“But because it's you,” he continued as if he hadn't heard her. “I'm going to go out on a limb here and say it's Haer’Dalis you're jealous of.”

“Yeah, one sibling isn't enough for me, I've decided to complicate my life even further and go after my sister, too.”

“You know that's not what I mean, Rana. You're not used to having to share Imoen with someone else. You've always spent as much time as you want with her, with no one to challenge that. Now, she's always with the bard… and you can't just go to her like before when you want to distract yourself from whatever's going on in your head.”

“You should have been a paladin.”

“Hah! No thanks. I'll leave the righteous judgements to those who can do so without being hypocritical. But, Rana, it doesn't take a paladin to see what's going on.”

Letting out an annoyed sigh, Rana relaxed her stance and looked down at the gleaming Darkfire bow, still marvelling at its beauty. This was the first time she'd been able to use it, and it was every bit as powerful and smooth as she imagined it would be.

“So… do you wanna talk about it or keep deflecting?”

Rana clicked her tongue at Rook and the tiny kitten bounded toward her. Reaching down, she scooped him up with one hand and held him close, finding solace in the rumbling of his purrs.

“Just before leaving Baldur’s Gate, I found Sarevok's stash of gold and, naturally, I took it. He found out about it yesterday.”

“Naturally. How much was it?”

“A lot. Until I can direct him to where it's now hidden, or take him there myself, he's taken over my half of this property as collateral.”

Valygar rubbed a hand across his mouth to hide his amusement.

“I told you one day you were going to steal yourself into a hole you wouldn't be able to easily climb your way out of.”

“Yeah, well, I'm not _that_ upset. He's only doing this as a way to hold something over my head. Most likely, he needed to feel in control again after getting me Rook, I'm sure doing something sweet taxed him to the point he felt he needed to level it out, so I'll let it be for now.”

She decided it would be best not to mention Sarevok's subtle claim on her bedroom. He'd “graciously allowed” her to keep her room, but there had been something in his voice that suggested it wasn't _solely_ hers now. As if he'd gotten a foot in the door, so to speak, and she should keep it locked if she didn't want him exercising his newly acquired right to invade her sanctuary. The problem was that Rana wasn't _entirely_ sure if she minded that or not. Which annoyed her.

“I figured that's how you got him,” Valygar grinned, scratching the kitten behind the ears until it bit at him. “Well, if it doesn't bother you that much, why are you out here killing that poor tree stump?”

_Because why does it matter if he now owns my half of this place when we're stuck together for an eternity anyway? Why are we stuck together for eternity, you ask? Because I'm an idiot with terrible impulse control. Because I agreed to give him a small part of my elven soul without considering the very possible and life altering ramifications. Because I expected him to only take the agreed upon tiny portion. Because he's always been such a trustworthy guy, so why would he try and take more?_

“Just a lot on my mind. I'm ready to start looking for the rest of the Five, but I think it might be better if we just wait on reinforcements. Which could take weeks.”

“We can keep broadening our scouting range in the meantime. By the time the others get here, we _should_ know where the other bhaalspawn are at, and hopefully an idea of their forces, too. I know it's marked on that map, but I think we should disregard it for the most part. For all we know, there's more than just Sendai and Abazigal hiding in these mountains.”

“And if none of them show up, then what?”

“Well, who all did you write?”

“Almost all of my former companions. Some who helped us with Irenicus, and a few who were with me back at the Sword Coast.”

“You're not gonna say names are you?”

“Nope. It's a surprise. I want everyone on a level playing field once we bring in more people. I figure if I announce who all may be coming to join us, some of you mainstays will bail on me.”

“Oh great, Rana, that's not reassuring at all.”

“It wasn't meant to be,” she replied sweetly.

“At least tell me what the odds are that a brawl might immediately break out once they arrive. You mentioned some from the Sword Coast, any of _them_ going to be upset about Sarevok?”

“Almost for a certainty. To both questions.”

Valygar sighed.

“Guess I'll savor the boredom and monotony of this part of our quest while it lasts.”

“Wise decision.”

As the sun began to slowly sink behind the trees, and the shadows grew longer, Rana and Valygar gathered up their now empty quivers and headed inside for dinner.

Mezoar had prepared yet another culinary masterpiece, judging by the aroma that hit them as they entered her home, the “Rookery”, a moniker that still rankled, causing Valygar to grumble about lethargy and his softening midsection. When Rana coyly suggested he get more exercise with Jaheira, the ranger scowled at her, cheeks reddening in embarrassment, and stomped to his chair at the table.

This evening's supper consisted of medallions of venison that had marinated in wine sauce all day, then briefly seared over an open flame until they were nearly charred on the outside, but rare in the middle. Alongside that were potatoes whipped until they were fluffy, sweetened with cream and butter, and liberally sprinkled with rosemary. Green beans sauteed with red onions, bacon, and button mushrooms were also served, as well as crusty bread to soak up the juices from the venison.

Rana looked at her empty plate, feeling a little dazed by how much she'd eaten. Rook, who had finished his own portion long before she did, sluggishly lapped her plate clean, too full to move without waddling. He looked like he had swallowed an orange.

As unaccustomed as she was to eating this much, she had to admit she could feel herself gaining strength again. Mezoar’s cooking made it deceptively easy to keep wolfing it down without realizing how much had been consumed until either the food was all gone or you suddenly felt like you would burst from another forkful. It reminded her of Winthrop's cooking back in Candlekeep, when she and Imoen seemed to compete in how fast they could clear out his larders.

When she was a child back in the Bhaal cult, food had been scarce, which is probably why, at Candlekeep, she'd eaten so much so quickly and hoarded anything she couldn't finish. Subconsciously she must have remembered what it was like to go days between whatever scraps she could get ahold of. As an adult, her mind made it too difficult to maintain an appetite, or to keep food down. At least, it _used_ to.

Rook, too, was benefiting from the meals, as he seemed to be growing practically right in front of her.

While Chauntia cleared away the dishes and set out cups of coffee, Rana's was already made to her liking which still made her smile, Keldorn rose from his seat at the far end of the table and began opening up a dialogue on what would be on the agenda over the coming days.

Truthfully, she had little interest in this meeting. They couldn't go anywhere; not until her other companions arrived, and the dropping temperature was beginning to become a problem for herself, Viconia, and Jaheira, as well. Elves, and those who are half elven, don't have body hair, except for what's on their heads. They were more easily susceptible to hypothermia and frostbite. It wasn't _quite_ that cold yet, but it would be soon. Haer'Dalis was the exception to this because of his demonic blood.

Autumn had only just begun, but this close to the mountains, they would feel the wrath of winter far before her time came.

As the others began moving seats, getting up to pace, and basically settle in for a lengthy discussion, Rana's mind wandered. She knew she should be paying attention, but she just couldn't seem to keep herself focused on what was being said. Sipping her coffee, she leaned back in her chair, curling her legs beneath her, and gently stroked Rook’s fur as he sprawled across her lap and began to snore.

“I've heard talk of a ranger outpost…”

“Six children missing in half as many months…”

“No snow yet, so maybe in a fortnight we'll see some familiar faces…”

“Highharvesttide celebration begins tomorrow…”

“The Temple of Helm requires my services still…”

“He’s getting fat,” this from Sarevok as he took the chair Imoen had vacated on her right when the girl got up to sit on the Bard’s lap.

Rana looked down at Rook, then up at the man with a raised eyebrow.

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

Reaching out to scratch behind the kitten’s ears, Sarevok gave her a look.

“You’re spoiling him rotten.”

“And this is wrong because…?”

“He's going to be completely useless if you don't start refraining from giving him everything he wants.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot he was supposed to be our next frontline fighter. Rather than, ya know, a _pet.”_

“I just don't understand why you would want such a worthless creature.”

“He's cute and he cuddles with me. What's so hard to understand?”

“You don't need a cat for those things.”

“Perhaps not, but Rook won't try to change me. He's happy with the way I am. Finally feeling like I'm enough for someone, even a cat, is nice beyond words.”

He snorted and didn't reply, obviously not wanting to argue about that right now. She narrowed her eyes at him, slightly irritated that he wasn’t predictably rising to the bait to argue ascension with her.

“Rana, you feel up to going to the outpost outside of town with me tomorrow and speaking to the rangers there?” Valygar asked her from up the table.

“No. It's cold.”

“Godchild, are you not concerned about the missing children?” Jaheira questioned, her tone heavy with disapproval.

“Of course I am, but my presence may actually be a problem. They'll have likely dealt with, or seen, bhaalspawn by now. Possibly even the drow or dragon’s armies. If I show up there asking questions, they might refuse to answer out of fear of bringing the war to Tor Niedrig.”

Jaheira pursed her lips, probably wanting to use Rana's explanation as an illustration of her declining morality, but her excuse was sound, and they both knew it.

“You could go with him, Jaheira,” Rana pointed out.

“If you were paying attention, you would know that I've already said I would be investigating around the closed up mines.”

“Watch out for kobolds,” Sarevok drawled.

Jaheira went rigid in her chair. Slowly, she turned her head to look at him. Leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, he returned her stare, smirking a little at her reaction to his reminder of the Nashkel mines. Of the kobolds that had overrun it under the command of Mulahey, one of his underlings.

The druid shifted her focus to Rana, as if expecting her to reprimand the Deathbringer for his brazen comment. Rana yawned.

“Perhaps it is you who should watch out, Sarevok.”

“From what? You? Surely you jest.”

 _“All right_ you two, that's quite enough,” Keldorn interjected wearily before Jaheira could respond. “Sarevok, there was a commotion a few days prior that has come to my attention. A small mercenary party of seven men were found dead at an archery range near the center of town. One was cut in two, another had been impaled through the chest, and the rest were slain by arrows. Arrows with black feather fletching.”

All eyes that had been on Sarevok turned to Rana, then back to him, then again to her.

“Your point, paladin?”

“Do you know anything about that? Either of you?”

Rana rolled her eyes and slouched back further in her chair, throwing one leg up to dangle across the corner of the table before pinning Keldorn with a bored look.

“Aye. We killed them.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Sarevok asked.

“They attacked me,” Rana replied at the same time.

“Why?”

“Racism?”

“Can you take _anything_ seriously?!” Jaheira demanded.

“I refused the Captain's advances and he and his minions took offense. I defended myself. Sarevok showed up and helped. A little.”

“A little?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at her, which she ignored.

“So neither of you instigated it?” Keldorn asked.

Rana shook her head. Sarevok bit back a yawn.

“Why did you not inform us?” The druid all but yelled.

“Is she to report everything to you, Harper?”

“Something like this, yes!”

“Hey guys, we killed a bunch of lecherous assholes-”

 _“Enough!”_ Keldorn bellowed, as those in the room either laughed or started to voice their displeasure at Rana's flippant attitude.

“There was also a report of a woman gone missing,” the paladin continued, his voice hard with irritation. “The proprietor of the Sawtooth Inn, where she was staying, says he last saw her enter her room, but did not see her leave. When he went to collect her gold for another rented night, he found the door still locked. When he went in, there was no sign of struggle, and her belongings were still there. Along with a pile of ash just inside the room.”

“A bhaalspawn?” Valygar pondered aloud.

Rana felt a chill when she noticed Jaheira still staring at her from across the table. The other woman's eyes had narrowed in suspicion as Keldorn described the bhaalspawn she had murdered.

There had been no point in denying being responsible for the death of those mercenaries. While black feathers were commonly used for fletching, her group would immediately recognize them as hers. Not to mention the sudden appearance of her new bow. Her deceased half-sister, however, was no one's business but her own.

“Do you know anything about this as well, Ilyrana?” Jaheira asked. “Sarevok?”

“Am I to be incriminated for every disappearance and death in this town?” The Deathbringer asked.

“What he said,” Rana quipped.

“Well, seeing as the two of you already went on _one_ killing spree, I don't see why taking the life of one of your kin would give you pause.”

“Right,” Sarevok sneered. “Because killing bhaalspawn is _definitely_ not why we're even here in the first place.”

“So you admit to killing this woman?”

“No. I did not kill her.”

“Ilyrana?”

All eyes focused on her. It was her sister's anxious expression, and Sarevok's curious one, that bothered her the most.

“Nope. There _are_ other bhaalspawn here in town, though. If this woman was one of the Children, then it's likely it was one of the others who got to her.”

“How many others?” Valygar asked.

“It's hard to pin down a number. When I sense them, it's sort of like the feeling that you've forgotten something, or someone's name is just on the tip of your tongue. If I can just get to where that feeling is originating from, I'll remember, ya know? If I had to guess, I would say there's maybe… four points here in town where that feeling is coming from.”

“Are they strong? That is, can you tell if they're empowered by the taint like you are, or are they like Imoen?” Viconia inquired.

“No one's like me, Viconia.”

“Thank Shar for small mercies.”

“They're weaker. They barely register as a threat.”

“It's worth keeping an eye on, but for now, we have more to concern ourselves with,” Keldorn sighed, looking down at the map of the outlying areas that he'd rolled out on the table.

As everyone's attention was drawn back to scouting, digging up the town's secrets, and bickering for the sake of bickering, Rana tried to will herself to relax. A difficult feat when Jaheira was still sending her suspicious glances, Anomen kept glaring at Sarevok for sitting so close to her, and Imoen seemed to be doing a combination of those two things.

“Why didn't you tell me about that bhaalspawn?” Sarevok whispered after awhile. “I assume it happened the same day as those mercenaries?”

“Aye, just before,” she whispered back, keeping her gaze trained on Keldorn at the opposite end of the table while she spoke. “I don't know why I did it.”

“You really are a terrible liar, little one.”

“I'm not lying!” She hissed. “I felt her, followed her, and killed her. I was in a bad mood. I guess I needed an outlet.”

“That rings with a bit more truth. I'm glad you vented your rancor on her rather than yourself this time. Though, I wonder if there's a bit more to it than that. Did you enjoy it?”

“No.”

“Come now, Rana, you know you can tell me.”

“Why does it matter?”

“It doesn't really. I just want to hear you say it.”

“In that case, go fuck yourself.”

Sarevok's sudden laugh quieted the room as everyone turned and looked at the two of them. Rana stared innocently back, ignoring the tingle in her elbow as she longed to drive it into the man's ribs to shut him up.

“As I was saying…” Keldorn continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

“How in the Nine Hells can you listen to this?” Sarevok muttered as the group went back to their discussion.

The dining room was growing louder as some of her companions began trying to talk over others, and while a few were also holding their own off-topic conversations amongst themselves.

“It's easy. I don't.”

“You are their leader.”

“Am I? I'm happy someone remembers. Look, I've learned that the better and more skilled my group is, the more opinions they seem to have, and the louder they want to express them. They don't like sitting around, so they wanna yell about getting things done so that they feel like something is getting accomplished even though it clearly isn't. I'll pretend to listen, break up any fights, eavesdrop on the more interesting side convos, and that's about it. It's already been decided we're not moving until reinforcements arrive, so that's about all I can do.”

_“Merp!”_

They both looked down at Rook, who had stretched out on his belly, one paw reaching out to bat at Sarevok's leg. The kitten continued until Sarevok sighed and began to pet him.

“The clerics here are very grateful for my assistance and I feel they will benefit from my continued presence…”

“I can't decide which would be more satisfying, choking him to death with my bare hands or peeling his skin off with a paring knife,” Sarevok whispered as if to himself.

Rana gave him a sidelong glance.

“That's disturbing,” she murmured back.

“Is it? I think you meant to say 'enticing’ or perhaps 'permissible’.”

Rana pursed her lips to keep from laughing.

“We should be focusing on finding the lost children. I believe by doing so, we can restore the balance of this town. I can't be the only one who senses the wrongness here.”

“I can't begin to tell you how often I've fantasized of ripping her tongue out,” he sighed, staring almost longingly at Jaheira.

“Stop it!” Rana hissed, kicking his leg beneath the table for emphasis, her face starting to hurt from the effort of fighting back her amusement.

“Why? Are my reveries giving you ideas? Are you concerned you might enjoy watching me carry them out?”

“If I am, it's only because I'm tired and wanna go to bed. _Not_ because I want to see you torture my friends.”

“Hmm. I'm not sure I believe that.”

Anomen looked over at them, trying to catch Rana's attention. Maybe hoping she'd insist he stay at the house rather than return to the Temple of Helm.

_By all means, don't let me keep you from your ego-stroking duties, Sir Anomen._

Closing her eyes, she tried to block out the noise, the glances, and Sarevok's gory monologue.

It didn't do much good.

As the meeting drew on, it became harder and harder to keep a straight face while the Deathbringer whispered about the varied and colorful ways he longed to torture certain members of her company. None of which should be amusing, but Rana was becoming more annoyed by the length and volume of what she considered to be a rather unnecessary waste of an evening.

“At which point I would carve out the-”

 _“Sarevok,”_ she sighed after a particularly macabre exhortation. “You do realize how unrealistic these little scenarios you've created are, right? I mean, I get how appealing they might sound, but you know I wouldn't just stand by and allow it.”

“Hmph. These are _my_ fantasies so I'll do what I please in them. As will _you._ And trust me, little one, I have you doing a lot of things, and none of them involve standing.”

Rana looked up at the ceiling, trying to pretend she hadn't just heard him say that. A small, insane part of her wanted to ask what sort of things she was doing then. The larger, more rational part of her knew that finding out wouldn't do her any good. At all.

Chauntia appeared to pour more coffee, prompting Keldorn to inquire about the time. Upon hearing their little meeting had already drug on for nearly two hours, and with little to show for it, the paladin decided to call it a night. Much to the relief of Rana.

With a groan she pushed to her feet, cradling a passed out Rook in her arms, and rolling her right shoulder as it had tightened up after burning through several quivers earlier. Sarevok hadn't moved from his chair, hadn't hardly moved at all, except his eyes stayed fixed on her.

“What?” She asked quietly, massaging her shoulder.

He shook his head and said nothing. His gaze flicked to the others as they moved about the room, either lingering to talk or heading for bed. When he looked back at her, she felt his half of their soul brush against hers. Before she could get angry that he would dare do that again while her companions were all so close, he withdrew and rose to his feet. Without a word he walked away, leaving her confused and a little irritated at his behavior.

“Something wrong, sis?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing. Just tired.”

“I'll bet. It sounds like you've been pretty busy lately.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Why didn't you tell me you were attacked in the middle of town?”

“Because it was dealt with and I figured the less people who knew about it the better, in case the guards came sniffing around.”

“Oh. So it was just gonna be you and Sarevok's little secret. I see.”

Rana narrowed her eyes, studying Imoen's cold expression.

“He knew because he was there. Not because I decided to confide in him and not you.”

“So he just suddenly appeared while you were under attack and helped you. Out of the kindness of his heart. How uncharacteristically gallant of him.”

“What are you trying to get at, Imoen? Drop the bratty attitude and just say it.”

“Now, now, my feisty birds…” Haer'Dalis tried to intervene.

“You two seemed awfully chummy during this meeting. Totally condescending about killing a bunch of people, and then too absorbed in your own private conversation to deign to contribute to the plans the rest of us were trying to come up with.”

“Sorry if I was having trouble pretending like the past two hours weren't a total waste of time. You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous.”

_“Jealous?! Are you serious?”_

“Yes. Because I was talking to him rather than you. Nevermind the fact that you stay wrapped up in _him,”_ Rana waved at the tiefling. “All the time that I can barely get a word in edgewise.”

“Oho! Well, aren't you the raven calling the crow black. Who sounds jealous now?”

“Goodnight, Imoen.”

As she turned to leave, she noticed the bard trying to drag her sister into a corner in order to prevent the girl from following her.

She didn't know what had triggered Imoen into starting this little spat, but she was in no mood for it. They were sisters and had always acted like it, even before finding out that they shared a father. Usually that meant they were closer than the best of friends. They knew each other inside and out. Sometimes, though, it meant they both knew where the other’s buttons were and exactly how much pressure to apply in order to get a reaction. These squabbles never lasted long, and rarely ever scratched deeper than surface temper. At least, they didn't before. Now, with the taint tightening it's hold over each of them, and the ever-growing mountain of secrets Rana seemed to be collecting and hoarding, plus Imoen's growing relationship with the bard… it was only a matter of time before they began getting under each other's skin.

“Maybe I'd want to spend more time with you if you weren't always so closed off and moody,” Imoen piped up before Rana could get out of the room. “I get it, your life sucks, but that doesn't mean I want to bask in the gloom with you all the time.”

Rana stopped. The girl's words were like an injection of raw fury and indignation straight into her veins. She was thankful they were the only ones left in the room, aside from Haer'Dalis, but she didn't give a damn what he thought of this.

“Not everything revolves around you, Imoen. Some of us have inescapable destinies to contend with, I'm sorry that's such an inconvenience for you. If you don't have time for me, that's perfectly fine. Just don't act like a little bitch when you realize I'm not pining for your attention. Mmkay?”

“Likewise.”

Pain flared in her palms as she clenched her fists, her nails cutting the skin. Taking a deep breath, Rana left the room without so much as a backwards glance or pithy reply. Her sister was obviously spoiling for a fight, so she wouldn't oblige her. Let the boyfriend handle that mess.

“My lady?”

Anomen appeared out of nowhere right as she reached the stairs to the second floor.

“What is it, Anomen?” She asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

She really just wanted to soak in a hot bath and go to bed.

“I was wondering if you'd like to accompany me to the Temple in the morning. I'd like to show you the progress I've made with what passes for this town’s guards. Perhaps we could stop at the Sawtooth Inn and speak with it's proprietor about the missing woman. Over dinner. I'm not convinced she was a bhaalspawn. I have a feeling whoever took her is also responsible for the children. I think I can get to the bottom of this far quicker than the Ranger can.”

There was too much of what he'd just said for Rana to process properly.

“Valygar? This isn't a competition, Anomen. The finding of the children is what's important, not who found them.”

“I disagree, Ilyrana. Imagine how grateful the people of this cesspool will be if a priest of Helm returns their kids. How beneficial their gratitude will be to the church. And in turn, how much order the church can then bring about to this corrupt place. If your woodsman finds them, they'll… what? Give him some gold? How can he effect change?”

“Who cares about the damn town? Or who gets the pat on the back? We should be working together, not turning this into a pissing contest. Besides, you've been with the Temple for a couple days and have learned nothing. Valygar has already asked around about the kids, so the next obvious place to go is that ranger outpost. Until he returns, I'm just gonna wait.”

“My apologies, my lady,” he said stiffly. “Please, don't let me keep you from eagerly awaiting Valygar’s return.”

While he stomped towards the front door, all she could do was stare after him in partial bewilderment and partial disgust. Was everyone smoking or drinking something and just not offering any to her?!

“Mistress!”

Halfway through her bedroom door, Rana turned to see Chauntia ascending the stairs and moving toward her, adjusting the green scarf she always wore around her neck.

“I was wondering if maybe… well, if you needed assistance with your bath. I saw you outside with your bow earlier, you must be sore.”

She opened her mouth to decline the offer, but it was the girl's fidgeting that stopped her. It was obvious the younger woman was scarred. Rana had done much the same once to conceal her own. Before she'd stopped caring. Perhaps she could help.

“I would appreciate the extra hand. It's past time for a chat, too, I think,” she added, having not forgotten the other intriguing aspects to the Chultan.

Something like hope glimmered in those emerald eyes, along with foreboding. Whatever Chauntia's idea of a late night conversation was, it didn't sit too well with her. Which scratched at Rana's curiosity.

Rook leapt from her arms onto the bed and immediately burrowed between her two pillows. Popping his head up, he watched her gather her nightclothes from her drawers before yawning and disappearing in his little makeshift den.

While Chauntia sat on the rim of the bathtub, testing the temperature with her fingers as it filled, Rana debated on how to open this little dialogue. There was a lot she didn't know about the girl. A lot that the girl obviously wanted to divulge, but for whatever reason was scared, or at least wary, of doing so.

In the dim light she could see mottled burn scars across the back of the younger woman’s hands and up her exposed forearms. Normally she wore gloves, but she'd removed them to help her with her bath.

Without another thought, Rana disrobed, throwing her clothes in the bin and walking into the bathroom. Chauntia glanced up then went as still as a statue.

Wordlessly, Rana stepped into the hot water and sank down, resting the back of her head atop the porcelain, and closed her eyes. After ten deep breaths, and complete silence from the girl, she spoke.

“Ask, and I'll tell you about them.”

“A… about what, my lady?”

“My scars.”

A minute passed.

Then another.

“The burns… on your… on your thighs.”

“A mage used a Vampiric Touch spell to hold them open to make it hurt more while he raped me.”

He heard Chauntia swallow and her breaths come faster. She waited for the obligatory sympathetic bleating. They didn't come, and she felt her shoulders relaxing slightly, not even having noticed they were tense.

“The one on your side?”

“One of Sarevok's less savory gifts.”

“What? Sarevok did that to you?”

“Sibling rivalry.”

She opened her eyes to see the reaction those words would garner. She wasn't disappointed.

“I… I don't understand.”

“He's my half-brother.”

“Which is why I'm confused.”

“Girl, that makes two of us.”

Chauntia laughed, and though she was obviously still curious, she moved on.

“The ones down your back?”

“The same mage took spinal fluid samples, then decided to turn the incisions into X’s ‘cause he thought they looked nicer that way.”

The girl's face looked haunted, as if she could feel the pain wrought by Irenicus's knife. Blessedly, she soldiered on, so Rana wouldn't be forced to dwell on the memory.

“The ones on your neck?”

“Gibberling on this side,” Rana said, pointing to the three scratches before motioning to her shoulder. “And vampire bite over here.”

“I thought vampires went for the jugular?”

“The more experienced ones do. The younger ones haven't learned to control their hunger and their bloodlust makes them sloppy.”

The girl went quiet, absorbing everything she'd been told. After awhile, she moved around to sit on the floor behind Rana's head and began to lather her hair with oil.

“Mezoar isn't really my father.”

Rana thought she'd had a pretty good idea of what sort of questions and comments Chauntia would make following her explanations of how she got her scars. This statement definitely wasn't one of them.

“Who is he to you then?”

“He used to be head cook in my family's estate back in Chult. He was employed there before I was even born, and so he watched me grow up, and had more of a hand in my rearing than my parents did.”

“You know you have to tell me the whole story now. Not just about how the two of you came to be here, but also about _your_ scars.”

“It's only fair, I suppose,” Chauntia agreed, her voice a little shaky with nerves.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, her hands still moving methodically through Rana's thick mass of hair, she began to tell her story.

“I was a member of one of the more prominent families where I lived. We were wealthy, thanks to my father's knack for knowing where to invest his gold, and my mother's ability to befriend just about anyone. I was their only child, and thus was being groomed to help my mother in establishing business contacts and the like. My parents weren't very affectionate and were pretty self-absorbed. They cared more about their image and their riches than they did anything else. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, I wanted more than anything to earn their love and attention.”

She stopped here to take another deep breath. Rana could feel her hands shake a little against her scalp, but she said nothing, letting the girl take all the time she needed to get this out.

“About two years ago, my family hit a run of bad investments and we lost a lot of our wealth, and with it our standing and influence within the city. My mother and father began to quarrel, servants began to resign as their wages were cut, and my tutors left as we could no longer afford them. Things were bleak for awhile. Until a woman showed up one day, claiming to be a mage of great skill, and offered to apprentice me as she could sense latent magical ability inside me. My parents jumped at this, eager to have a mage in the family, hoping that maybe, once I returned, they could use my new status as a way of working their way back up the social ladder. They gave her what gold they had left, and I was eager to help my family, to make them proud. What a fool I was.”

“Did you struggle with learning magic?”

Chauntia barked out a bitter laugh.

“I don't know if I would have struggled or not. The mage, whose name I will never speak again for as long as I live, didn't teach me. I'm pretty sure she lied about me having magical talent. As soon as I was away from my parents, squirreled away in her shabby hut outside of the city, I became her guinea pig. Her target dummy. Turns out she was a second rate sorceress who just needed the gold, so she conned her way into the good graces of desperate families like mine. Once she had their gold she had little real use for me, but of course she couldn't just turn me out could she? No, instead, she used my parent's money to purchase spells she was far too inept to cast, and I was the one she practiced on.”

Rana closed her eyes so the girl wouldn't glimpse the glow she knew they had begun to emit. It was far too easy to blend her own memories of being helpless at the hand of a mage’s experiments with Chauntia's. Too easy to let her rage take over, to burn away the pain.

“That's how you came by the burns on your arms. And the scars on your neck that you try to hide.”

In answer, Chauntia stood and moved around the tub so she could see her. With shaking hands, she unwound her scarf and set it aside. Candlelight reflected off of pale swatches of scar tissue that dotted her neck and shoulders. Among them were more burns and a few jagged cuts.

“Why do you hide them?”

Chauntia’s initial reaction to Rana's inquiry was to look at her like she were mad. That the answer should be obvious. Then, the girl's expressive eyes dipped to the scars visible on Rana's neck and shoulder. Her hand went up to trace the imperfections on her dark skin, and her face became contemplative.

“They're ugly,” she finally whispered, now avoiding her gaze.

“I could say that beauty is in the eye of the Beholder. But, trust me, there's nothing pretty about those creatures.”

Chauntia let out a reluctant chuckle at Rana's attempt at a joke.

“I could also say no one will notice or care, but we both know that's a lie. You're an attractive young woman, so a lot of men will look at your scars and think 'she'd be perfect if not for those things’. Women will either look at you pityingly or with a smirk of superiority,  because they think your beauty is flawed. It isn't. The longer you live, the more scars you're going to accumulate. If you don't, it means you're not really living. Your scars tell a story. A tale of a sadistic woman whom you _survived._ If someone looks at you and doesn't see that, they're not worthy of your time.”

The girl looked down at her arms, studying them in what Rana hoped was a new light. The girl was young yet, young enough to still believe that looks were everything. So she may not truly believe what Rana was telling her, but she was also smart. She'd realize the truth in her words eventually. Or not, and retain this insecurity.

_I was like her once. Not so very long ago, but gods, it feels like a lifetime has passed._

The first scar to be added to her menagerie was from the gibberling. Not a day after she'd watched Sarevok cut down her godfather, she'd nearly been eviscerated by the ghoulish thing. It had come out of nowhere, it's preceding hellish scream the only thing that saved her. Jerking away reflexively, it's claws had only grazed her neck, rather than gouging out three deep furrows that would have made her bleed out not long after she hit the ground. Imoen had put an arrow through its eye before it could finish her off. Both girls had been in a complete panic afterward, though, so much so that they both wasted half their quivers shooting at any quivering bush, shifting shadow, or surprised rabbit they encountered on their way to the Friendly Arm Inn.

She couldn't help but smile a little sadly at the memory. They had come a long way from nearly wetting themselves from fear of another gibberling ambush. To see one now would actually be a relief. Rana would rather fight a horde of them before facing another vampire nest, dragon den, or spider of any size.

“I thought my body was ruined,” Chauntia admitted quietly, bringing Rana back to the present. “That no one would want me because I've been damaged. I knew you had scars, probably more than just the visible ones. It… it gave me hope. I saw the way some of the men looked at you. Especially your half… ahem, Sarevok. He doesn't seem to find them unattractive, if he even notices them at all.”

“It's not quite the same. He's a warrior, with far more scars than I currently have, so he only notices what they stand for. Many other men will look at me and see only the marred skin. Find you someone like… well, not like Sarevok, I wouldn't wish that upon you, but someone who will look at you and see your strength and resilience, rather than some damn scars.”

This garnered a slightly more enthusiastic laugh.

“Ya know,” Rana continued, tilting her head in thought. “There _is_ another man under this roof who wouldn't see your scars as ugly. One whom I've noticed you get pretty flustered at just the mention of.”

“You mean the one who doesn't notice my existence.”

“If Valygar doesn't see you, it's only because he's masochistically pursuing Jaheira. But, just between you and me, a man like that is wasted on her.”

“But she's very strong. And pretty. And-”

“Opinionated, self-righteous, hypocritical, and condescending?”

“You know I can't speak of her that way.”

“No, but we both know it's true. Jaheira is a lot of things, but good for Valygar she is not. He'll realize that sooner or later. And when he does, I'm going to subtly push him in your direction.”

“What?! No! My lady, please, I don't think I'm even capable of speaking to him without tripping over my own tongue.”

“Oh this is happening. Resign yourself,” Rana drawled, grinning at the girl's furious blush and weak attempt at a scowl.

“Now, tell me how you escaped the mage.”

Chauntia dipped a pitcher in the water and began to rinse the cleansing oil out of Rana's hair.

“I was there almost three months. She quickly burned through my parent's gold, and when she did, she shackled me in her basement and left to find new people to prey on. I don't know how long I was down there in the dark. Probably only a couple days at a time, since I didn't starve to death, but it felt like an eternity. I worried about going mad almost as much as I worried about food and water. The only thing that got me through those long hours was the hope that surely my parents would begin to wonder why I wasn't writing them and investigate.”

She stopped to set the pitcher aside, shaking her head at her own naivete, and handed a cake of soap and a washcloth to Rana.

“Eventually she'd return, sometimes with more gold, sometimes empty handed and furious. She'd take out her anger on me, but always made sure not to hurt me too badly. I'm not sure why she didn't just kill me. Maybe she hoped to ransom me back to my parents at some point. Anyway, one day I was lying on a cot in the spare room, passed out from another round of being hammered with magic missiles and acid arrows. She'd keep me in this room when she was home, only chaining me up in the basement when she left. I heard someone hissing my name through the bars of my window. When I looked up, I saw Mezoar.”

The girl smiled when she said the older man's name, probably reliving the relief she felt at the sight of him.

“He told me to hang on, that he was going to free me later that night when the woman fell asleep. I remember wanting to tell him not to risk it, that I would hate it if something happened to him on account of me. I couldn't bring myself to send him away, though. I was just _so_ happy to see him. To have _hope._ When it was dark, I heard the door to my room unlock. He had to half carry me out, I was still too weak. I'll never forget, for as long as I live, how terrifying that night was. We picked our way blindly through the surrounding forest. There was no moonlight and we dared not risk a fire. I was convinced she was pursuing us. That she'd woken to find me gone and had given chase. Every twig that snapped beneath our feet was thunderous, so loud that surely the woman would hear it and know where to follow. When morning came, I expected to see the city  but we were still in the forest. We finally stopped to rest, not having much choice as we were exhausted, and my wounds had reopened long ago and I'd been bleeding through the night. It was then that I asked Mezoar where we were, if we were close to home. It was then that… that I learned the truth behind my imprisonment.”

The girl took back the soap and washcloth once Rana was through with them and returned to sit on the rim of the tub, trailing her fingers in the water. It was several minutes before she spoke again, and it was unmistakable that she was holding back tears as she did.

“Mezoar had always been there when my mother and father were too busy to play with me, or tend to my skinned knees, and other childhood woes. In a lot of ways, he was the parent my real parents wouldn't bother themselves to be. So, he became suspicious when I hadn't tried to contact him or anyone else. My parents didn't seem concerned at all over the lack of correspondence. He said they started inviting dangerous looking people over. And that they'd be shut up in their study with them for hours at a time. When he finally asked them if they'd heard from me, or knew when I'd return to visit, they reprimanded him and threatened him if he spoke a word of my apprenticeship to anyone outside the household. This led him to begin eavesdropping on my parents. Eventually, he heard everything. Apparently, they sold me to the mage, knowing she wasn't going to train me and that she wasn't very skilled. Also knowing that they may never see me alive again. The shady people they brought to the house? They were rogues my parents were trying to hire to plant incriminating documents on one of the more powerful houses in the city. Documents that would describe my being kidnapped either by them or by their command. My parents were planning on reporting me missing, and directing the authorities to this other family, wherein the blame for my disappearance would fall on their shoulders. At which point my parents would have seized their wealth in recompense for my being kidnapped by them. The authorities would have eventually been led to the mage's home outside the city. By the time they would have finally found me, I would probably have long been dead, or at least crippled. The other families would have been horrified by what happened, and my parents would have soaked up the sympathy and attention. Along with all the assets they would have acquired from the framed family.”

“So the mage is still alive,” Rana whispered.

_And her piece of shit parents. Not for long though._

“I suppose. When Mezoar told me everything he heard… I'm ashamed to admit that at first I didn't believe him. Or, at least, I didn't want to believe him. Even after all of it, I wanted to hold onto the illusion that my parents loved me. He said he wrote a letter to the captain of the guard, detailing what my parents were trying to do, and then set off to find me. When he left, he knew he wasn't going back, that he would be leaving behind everything he knew and had worked for. For me. That's when I couldn't keep lying to myself. We eventually came to a town, and he started offering up his services to anyone who would pay him. After a time, we moved on, travelling from town to town, port to port. He didn't want me to work, didn't think I should because I was born a noble, so he cooked for wealthier families to take care of me. I hated not being able to help, so I started to learn how to lift coin purses and open the locks on the safe boxes kept by stall keepers. Of course, he found out what I was up to, and scolded me something fierce. He said I was raised to be a lady, not a thief. I said that I wasn't going to stand by and let him break his back trying to provide for me. So, he started letting me work as a servant, maybe hoping it would be too strenuous and I'd beg to go back to being a lady. I actually don't mind the work. I like the routine and the feeling of accomplishment at the end of the day. But I never stopped honing the skills I was teaching myself. If I'm ever held captive again, I'll be damned if I can't pick my way out.”

Rana stared at Chauntia, mulling over her story.

For a young woman who was gently bred, she adapted quickly to life on the road, and without the luxuries she would have become accustomed to at her former home. Not only had she survived an ordeal that would have killed a weaker person, she was flourishing.

“Do you know if your parents were ever brought to justice? Or the mage?”

“No. We were too afraid to ask around, in case they had put out a bounty stating Mezoar had kidnapped me. As for the mage, while I haven't heard anything about her, I have a feeling she'll get what's coming to her, if she hasn't already. Maybe, one day, when I'm stronger, I'll go back there and find out. Maybe. For now, I'm quite content here.”

“I have contacts within the Shadow Thieves. It wouldn't take much to find out, Chauntia. If you want to know. And if you want them dealt with. It's up to you.”

Chauntia went still, brow furrowed, her gaze far away. Rana gave her a moment to consider her offer, hoping the girl would allow her to help this much. Vengeance by proxy could still be satisfying.

“Does it make me a bad person if I find the thought of them dying to be satisfying?” Chauntia asked, her voice small and almost afraid.

“You may be asking the wrong person that question.”

“I want to know what _you_ think.”

“No, it doesn't make you a bad person. A bad person is someone who sells their child for personal gain. A bad person is someone who uses another living being as target practice. Visiting bad things on bad people doesn't make you bad. Sometimes, depending on your motivations, it can make you good. Other times, it's neither. Or both. Like I said, a child of murder isn't the best person to ask questions regarding morality. It's in my very nature to encourage death.”

“I'm not sure yet if I want to know if they're still alive. And what I want to do if they are.”

“Alright. Let me know if you make up your mind.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Listening to my story. Telling me about your scars. For not pitying me. It… it means a lot, my lady.”

“Rana. Call me Rana.”

For the first time that evening, Chauntia's smile was genuine, unreserved, and radiant. Rana was utterly helpless not to return it.

“Also, if you'd like, I can teach you what I know. Lockpicking, pickpocketing, how to avoid being seen, and… other more useful skills.”

She held the girl's gaze until she was sure Chauntia understood what she was implying. That she could teach her how to kill. Quickly and quietly.

“I'd like that. Very much. Thank you… Rana.”

Later that night, as Rana snuggled down into bed, pulling a snoring Rook close to her chest, she thought about Chauntia and the mage who had hurt her. About how the girl had retained some degree of youthful innocence in spite of everything. She couldn't help but be reminded of Imoen. Her sister had suffered horrifically at the hands of Irenicus, and yet she had come out stronger, more sure of herself and her abilities, after it was all said and done. Not that Rana hadn't either, but she seemed to be missing that spark that Imoen and Chauntia shared. That inner light that helped keep the encroaching horror of what they'd seen and done away.

She wanted to think about it, to ponder why all three of them, with so many similar scars on their bodies and souls, came to view their world so very differently. Why Rana could no longer look at the stars and feel awe, but could look at the pattern of blood sprayed across the ground after a kill and find it mesmerizingly beautiful. Sleep tugged at her, though, muddling her thoughts and stealing her ability to concentrate.

Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow she would reflect on what she'd learned of Chauntia, and the questions that had arisen from the conversation. Tomorrow…

 

_The room was dark, lit only by a few lazily burning candles and the light of the full moon streaming through the open window. Curtains rippling and billowing from an oncoming storm covered the soft sound of boots coming to rest on polished hardwood floors._

_Slipping from shadow to shifting shadow, Rana ghosted toward the massive bed...and the man sleeping within it. Stretched out on his stomach, shirtless, the moonlight illuminating the scars lashed into the dark skin of his back, the sight of him made her pause._

_He was bigger than she remembered from that night she watched him murder her foster father. Bigger, yet unarmored and unarmed, he was less terrifying. At least, for now. He wouldn't be if he woke._

At this moment, Rana realized this was a dream, one she'd had multiple times before, starting on the night she first arrived in Baldur's Gate. The last time she'd dreamt it was during a brief rest taken just before crashing Sarevok's inauguration ceremony at the Ducal Palace. She knew what was going to happen, assuming that is, after all these years, the dream wouldn't change. She tried to wake herself up, but as always, her mind overpowered her will and ignored her.

_Withdrawing the dagger from within the hooded cloak she wore, she moved into position beside the bed. His face was turned towards her, and she couldn't stop her eyes from flicking to it every half second to ensure he was still asleep. Her heart was hammering now in her chest, hard enough that she seemed convinced it would wake him._

_Adjusting her grip on the worn leather of the handle, she shifted her weight back, readying to strike with all of her strength to ensure the blade slipped cleanly through the back of his neck. Taking a slow, deep breath, she glanced back at his face one last time, and her heart stopped. Golden eyes, glowing like candlelight, glared back at her._

_Everything happened at once. There was an explosion of movement as she struck, hoping to make the kill before his sleep deadened reflexes could kick in. His hand shot out and caught her wrist, the blade just nicking his skin, and he surged to his feet, other hand clamping around her throat._

_Her back hit stone as he slammed her against the wall, the back of her head smacking against it hard enough that her vision blurred. Or perhaps that was from the lack of oxygen to her brain as his grip tightened on her windpipe._

_“That was very close,” he snarled. “You are going to live just long enough to regret ever making an attempt on my life.”_

_Ripping her weapon from her hand, he reached over and slammed it to the hilt into the wood of a nearby desk. Her gloved fingers clawed at the hand around her throat, trying vainly to pry his fingers open._

_Grasping the black fabric of her hood, he pulled it back, and his eyes widened as their gazes met._

_“You!”_

_To her surprise, he released her and took a step back. Hunching over, she gasped for air. After a few recuperating inhalations, her attention on the shadowed recesses around the window she had come through, she lunged toward it._

_Grasping the sill, she attempted to drop out, anything to escape him. An arm snaked around her torso and hauled her back. Before she could even utter a sound or move a muscle, she felt cold steel press against her throat. She froze._

_“You are far braver than I gave you credit for, girl,” his deep voice rumbled in her ear as he pressed her back against his chest. “But far more foolish if you honestly believed you could pull this off.”_

_“I almost did,” she snarled, digging the clawed tips of her gloves into his forearm._

_“Almost,” he sneered, pressing the blade hard enough against her skin to draw blood._

_“Finish it, then,” she bit out. “Like you did to Gorion, ambushing us with an entire group of soldiers in the middle of the night. Like a fucking coward!”_

_The knife cut deeper, making her think, for just a moment, that he'd done it._

_“Is that what you want? A fair fight? The illusion of an actual chance to kill me yourself? Ah, Ilyrana, you poor little fool, nothing would please me more.”_

_The knife disappeared, and she was shoved forward, hard enough that she hit the wall, causing pain to lance through her wrists when she caught herself against the stone._

_Whipping out her short swords, she spun around to face him, to take her vengeance at last against the man who had butchered the only family she'd ever known._

_He wore no armor and held only her knife. It didn't matter that he was far bigger, far stronger, and far more experienced. What mattered was that he was evil, and she was not, and that history usually favored the righteous. She was in the right, and she was still young enough at this point to believe that would be the deciding factor in who walked away tonight._

_“Come, Ilyrana. Do what you came here to do. Avenge Gorion. Erase the memory of his pathetic whimpering as he lay dying at my feet. I know you watched him die, hidden away like a scared little girl while he perished. Dying, in vain, to protect your worthless life.”_

Rana struggled to wake herself, not wanting to see what came next. Not wanting to remember the shame she felt each time she had awoken from this dream. The confusion. The rage. The absolute disgust that her mind could even conjure a scenario like this. Assassinating him had been a fevered fantasy of hers during those years, but the dream always ended so very differently than she had envisioned.

_His words ignited the helpless fury she had felt that night she'd seen Gorion cut down. It burned away the fear, lending her courage and clarity and a naive sense of arrogance._

_She lunged at him, spinning both blades expertly in her hands to build momentum, aiming at his exposed torso. He leaned back, avoiding the strikes, then took a step back to dodge the next flurry of steel. She kept advancing, her swords only missing their mark by a fraction of an inch, each near hit giving her a dose of false confidence, a surety that next time she wouldn't miss._

_Another slash. Another miss._

_He stepped back. She stepped forward._

_So close. Almost._

_Just one more swing. The next one for sure._

_She didn't see him strike. Didn't see the knife blur towards her forearm until it had cut through her leather armor, tearing it and the flesh beneath it. One of her swords went skidding across the floor._

_Stumbling back, cradling her bleeding arm to her chest, she felt her bravery and confidence evaporate as he began moving toward her. The game was over._

_She blocked the downward slash of the knife with her remaining sword, then kicked out, her booted foot connecting with his knee. It wasn't hard enough to incapacitate, but it was enough to unbalance him, however briefly, giving her the chance to dive for her dropped sword._

_She rolled to her feet, both blades in her hands, ready to continue the fight, completely unaware that it was already over._

_Faster than a man his size should be able to move, he was on her. His hands wrapped around her wrists and squeezed, forcing her own open, and her short swords clattered to the floor. She was shoved back into the wall, the back of her head striking the stone a second time this night, and this time left her seeing stars._

_She expected to feel steel sliding across her throat, or plunged into her stomach, but the blows never came. When she could focus again, he stood just before her, both hands resting on the wall on either side of her shoulders, leaning down until his face was inches from hers. Those glowing, mesmerizing eyes held hers and she knew she had lost._

_“Kill me then,” she whispered, her words slurred a little from the pain of her injuries._

_“I never wanted you dead, Ilyrana. I only ever wanted that Harper out of the way. Out of_ my _way. Out of_ our _way.”_

_His words confused her. He spoke as if she should know what he was saying. For some reason, that scared her more than the thought of dying._

_“What… what are you talking about?”_

_“You were supposed to be mine. He took you from me. I vowed I would get you back… and leave his corpse behind when I did.”_

_“You're not making any sense.”_

_She tried to duck under his arms, to get away, but he only dragged her back, pressing closer now to keep her from trying to escape again._

_“You were supposed to be mine,” he said again, his deep voice tinged with rage and longing. “Now, you will be.”_

_His lips pressed against hers, and the shock of it kept her from moving for a few seconds, just long enough for her confusion and apprehension to melt away._

_This shouldn't be happening. But it was. This shouldn't feel right. But it did. Something about the taste of him, the feel of his hands in her hair, his scent, tugged at her memory. Like she had done this with him before, but how could she? He felt so familiar to her, but how when he was a stranger?_

Rana felt the tears coursing down her face, even in sleep. In the dream, and all those times she'd dreamt it in the past, she didn't know that she _did_ know him. Had once known him better than anyone, as he had once known her.

The dream shifted, changed for the first time ever, and turned into a memory. One she had buried so deep that even the return of her erased memories hadn't brought it back. So painful and sweet was it that to remember it would have reinforced the sorrow of his death to the point she wouldn't have survived it.

_“Rana, listen to me. If we ever become separated, make your way north, to that town where the priests get the food from. If I can, I'll find you there.”_

_They were laying in their tree outside of the walls of the temple of Bhaal. Curled up together beneath the threadbare blanket he had given her months before._

_“We're not gonna get separated. We'll go to that town together.”_

_“Rana, please-”_

_“Why are you saying this? Are you planning on doing something stupid? Something that's gonna get you taken away from me?”_

_“Don't worry about me. I just need you to promise-”_

_“No. Whatever you're thinking about doing, don't. You don't get to do things without me, Sarevok. We're getting out of here together or not at all. Do you understand me?”_

_He sat up, so fast that she was nearly knocked off the tree limb._

_“Damnit, Ilyrana, listen to me! This isn't a game! If, for any reason, something happens to me, you come here, get our bag of supplies, and start walking north. Even if you have to leave me behind. Even if I'm dead. Swear it, Rana. Swear it!”_

_“No!” She snarled, sitting up to face him. “You can't tell me what to do! If I don't wanna leave you, then I won't, and there's nothing you can do about it! Why is this so important all of a sudden?”_

_“Fine. Don't swear to it. I'm going. Come talk to me when you've grown up a little and changed your mind.”_

_He rose to leave. Before he could finish climbing down the branch, she tackled him, knocking them both to the ground several feet below. Luckily, beds of autumn leaves broke their fall._

_“You stupid girl!” He cried, spitting out dead leaves and trying to extricate himself from underneath her._

_“You stupid boy! You're not going anywhere! Not now, and not ever! I told you I'm keeping you and there's not… not a damn thing you can do about it!”_

_He stopped struggling, laying his head back and sighing as he realized he'd lost this round. He never could keep fighting with her when she started to cry. Something about seeing those huge amber eyes welling with tears defeated him. Even though it was too dark to see, he knew what she looked like, and the image alone was enough._

Rana tried one last time to wake up, to pull herself from the memory. Not only because she was afraid she knew what was going to happen, even if this was the first time remembering it, but also because she had begun to realize she was seeing this from not only her perspective, but from Sarevok's as well.

Which meant he was, and likely had been all along, dreaming this with her.

_“Do you hear me?!” She shrieked at him, trembling with emotion._

_Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around her, coaxing her to lie down atop him, and he tucked her head beneath his chin when she eventually did. She sobbed, and they both knew why she was really crying. It was fear. The fear of being alone again. Left to stand against the horror of this place without anyone beside her. He felt this, too, but the fear of her dying, or of her being left here if something happened to him, was what had prompted him to make her promise to head north should anything happen._

_“Alright, Rana. I'm not going anywhere. I won't do anything without you. I promise. Can you stop crying now?”_

_“I'm not crying, you're crying!”_

_He laughed at her irritated response, which earned him a jab of her tiny fist into his ribs. It made him laugh harder. Hissing, she struggled to lean up. He let her._

_“Stop laughing at me!”_

_“Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'm not laughing anymore, see?”_

_She huffed. They both pretended not to hear her sniffling and wiping her nose on the sleeve of her shirt._

_“No more talking about being separated?”_

_“No more talking about being separated,” he agreed._

_She moved to get off him, but he tightened his grip, keeping her where she was. He felt her look down at him, puzzled. Reaching up, he wiped the tears off her face and smoothed her hair back behind pointed ears._

_Neither of them knew why he did what he did next._

_Gently, he took her face in both his hands and pulled her down to him until his lips pressed against hers. It was innocent in a way only children can be. He'd wanted to take her sadness away. And to make her understand that she wasn't alone. She would never be alone as long as he drew breath.  Time stopped for a moment. Or at least until she thumped him upside the head._

_“What was that for?”_

_He shrugged. She huffed._

_“Are you done crying now?”_

_“I wasn't crying,” she muttered, scooting to lay down beside him._

_She let him tuck her against him, wrapping them both in the blanket that had fallen with them._

_“I love you,” she whispered just before falling asleep._

_“I love you, too,” he whispered back, almost too softly to hear._

Rana sat up in bed, gasping and hiccuping as tears ran freely down her face, as the voice of Sarevok the boy faded in her mind. Her chest ached so fiercely that she thought she'd been injured in her sleep. There were no wounds, though. At least none that could be seen.

There were no words, in either common or elvish, to come close to describing how she felt. First, that dream. Then that memory. Both so vivid that she wasn't entirely sure if the dream wasn't also a memory.

Gods, how could she have not remembered that? How much _else_ was still buried inside her head, waiting for the proper moment to be remembered? And why now?

He had been her first kiss. Sure, it could be argued that it didn't count, they were both so young, and it wasn't done with the same intent as most kisses, but still.

And she'd told him she loved him. Which she had. And he had responded in kind.

Wiping at the tears on her face, she stumbled out of bed, gasping when the cold air hit her bare legs. She needed to move. Couldn't stand the thought of trying to go back to sleep after that. It hurt so badly that she was afraid it would trigger the sorrow all over again.

Reaching toward her dresser, and a pair of leggings to throw on, she stopped when she heard footsteps coming toward her room. She noticed her door had been left unlocked just as it opened.

“Go away,” she whispered, turning her face away to hide her reddened eyes and damp cheeks.

“No. We're going to talk. Have you had that dream before?”

Rana glared at Sarevok, hating him for bringing up the dream while omitting that memory. Who cares about the damn dream?!

 _“Go. Away!”_ She snarled when he closed, and locked, her door behind him.

“I've had that same dream, Rana. Before tonight.”

“What?”

“Of you attempting to assassinate me in my sleep. I’ve dreamt it several times before, back when I was still trying to ascend.”

“How? That's impossible. We didn't share a soul then. You're lying!”

“Damnit, girl, what reason would I have to lie?! You think I enjoy these little unexplainable revelations?!”

She cringed when he yelled, and strained to listen if anyone was moving around outside her room and might have heard him.

“Our memories,” he muttered as if to himself. “Just like how you would sleepwalk to the northernmost ramparts at Candlekeep because you felt drawn to Baldur's Gate. This is the same thing, it has to be, it was our memories trying to surface.”

“Okay, but for both of us to have the same dream back then, before sharing a soul? How would our memories have any control over that? Was my dream exactly the same as the ones you had? Or were there differences?”

“The only difference was I saw everything from your point of view, because you were the one dreaming it. Every other detail was precisely the same as when I used to dream it.”

Wrapping her arms around herself, Rana closed her eyes and took a deep breath, vainly trying to calm her nerves.

“It doesn't matter,” she finally said. “There's a logical explanation, we're just not seeing it. Now, I want you to leave.”

She wanted him gone. That memory still echoed just behind her eyes, and she wanted to simultaneously block it out forever as well as replay every bittersweet moment. Until she could make up her mind about it, the last thing she wanted was his presence further confusing things.

When he didn't answer, and she didn't hear her door open and close, she opened her eyes to find him staring at her like he'd never seen her before.

“What?”

“That last part… of us as children. I felt your reaction. Why did that affect you so much?”

 _“Are you serious?!_ Seeing a memory, especially one as poignant as that, remembering it for the first time, how could I _not_ be affected? How could _you_ not be affected? Ugh, forget that last question, I should know better.”

“This was your first time remembering that?”

Rana took a step back, her arms tightening around her stomach.

“It wasn't for you?”

“No, Rana. That one returned with all the rest. It was that one that stayed my hand.”

Further proof that this particular memory slipped through the cracks, waiting for a better time to present itself, so it wouldn't have fueled the sorrow.

“Please, Sarevok, just go,” she whispered.

It was too much. This was just too overwhelming, she couldn't think straight, nor did it seem like she could get enough air into her lungs. It felt almost like she'd been hit by crossbow bolts again.

He stepped toward her, and her eyes flicked up to his, silently begging him to leave.

“Rana, is that my shirt you're wearing?”

She looked down and noticed that she was indeed wearing his shirt. And not much else. Thankfully, it fell to mid thigh, but still, the realization that she was wearing practically nothing while locked in a bedroom with Sarevok in the middle of the night left her feeling _incredibly_ vulnerable.

His eyes glittered as he took another step closer, his gaze trained on her so intensely that it reminded her of the serpent hypnotizing the bird. Just before striking.

“Please…” was all she could manage, though she had no real idea what she was pleading for at this point.

Two more strides had him standing just before her. She looked up at him, unable to hide her emotions, the pain and confusion in her eyes.

“Do you have any idea what this does to me?” He asked, his voice a little forced, as he reached out to trail his hand through her hair, then down her arm, and to circle her waist. “Seeing you in my shirt like this?”

Rana swayed, her mind still racing to process everything, and she leaned into him for support.

She wanted him to leave. Didn't she?

But why did touching him, and being touched by him, feel so good? Why was it that being close to him made her feel both steadier and off balanced? Why did he always affect her like this?!

The man wasn't the boy. But she still responded to him as if they were the same.

His lips brushed her neck and she couldn't think anymore. Clinging to him like he were a lifeline in a stormy sea, she struggled to remember why she wanted him to go.

“Can't… we can't do this.”

He tugged her closer, until her back was arched and she was standing on her toes, becoming more aggressive as he explored the slope of her neck.

“Then tell me to stop.”

Slowly, he began backing her toward her bed.

“I…”

The backs of her knees hit the mattress.

“Say it, Rana.”

His hands gripped her hips painfully, and she was sure her throat would be bruised in the morning from his lips and his teeth.

_“Say it!”_

“I… can't say it.”

He lifted her off her feet, giving her just enough time to realize what she had set in motion with her admission, before she was laid back against her pillows. He followed her down, and when he settled his weight above her, something seemed to snap between them.

Suddenly, it was as if all of her misgivings were superfluous, her worry about what the others would say became irrelevant. All that mattered was that he didn't stop.

His mouth claimed hers, one hand tangled in her hair and the other wrapped around her outer thigh, dragging her closer as he pressed against her. Their teeth clicked together as thought and reason fled, both of them reduced to nothing but raw need.

“Wanted you… for so long, Rana. That dream… have you any idea how I felt each time I woke from it?”

Slowly, he worked her stolen shirt up as he spoke, exposing the thin material of her smallclothes, then her stomach, then her breasts.

“It made me hate you even more, because of how badly it made me want you there. In my room. In my bed. At my mercy. I should have known something bigger was at work, to not even imagine killing you if I had you like that.”

She tried to reply, but his mouth clamped over her breast, his tongue swirling languidly around her nipple, and words became difficult for her.

“And what… did you imagine doing then?”

In answer, he released her breast, his lips skimming across her skin as he moved lower, down her stomach, making her twitch when he brushed a rib. He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.

“I'm ticklish. _Don't_ get any ideas.”

His heated smirk woke up those stupid damn butterflies again.

Her eyes slid shut, head lolling, as he drifted down her body, his breath raising gooseflesh when he reached her belly button.

When he teased lower, making her writhe beneath him in anticipation, she dug her nails into the corded muscle of his shoulders, which earned her a nip just above the waistband of her panties.

“Look at me,” he demanded, voice roughened with desire.

Rana opened her eyes and looked at him dazedly, becoming almost immediately trapped by his gaze. She watched him hook his thumbs around her smallclothes and pause, waiting for her nod of assent.

She gave it.

Lifting her hips, he slid the cloth down her legs and dropped it to the floor.

It was at this moment, when he looked down at her, eyes blazing with desire, that her lust clouded mind fully grasped the very real possibility that they were going to have sex. From the first time he'd touched her since entering her room, until now, she'd been too swept up in the moment to consider the inevitable conclusion.

Nothing had been resolved between them. He still wanted her to ascend. Still just wanted to enjoy her body until then.

_Okay, so say we sleep together and he never succeeds in convincing me to chase godhood. What then? He gets pissy and leaves me, most likely. Fine. It would never work anyway. But what if I lose Imoen along the way because she found out? What will I be left with in the end? Absolutely nothing._

It was a sobering thought. One that should be enough to tell him she'd changed her mind.

Yet she remained silent.

Even when he spread her thighs, his rough palms squeezing that scarred flesh, she didn't protest.

She wouldn't admit to herself that right now, the consequences meant nothing to her. Maybe it was the dream. Certainly the memory. Perhaps even the quarrel with Imoen earlier that evening. The ripples in the pond that would expand from what they were doing would be dire. But she just couldn't make herself care. She could cross those bridges when she came to them, and maybe even burn a few along the way if need be.

A gasp escaped her lips when she felt his mouth close over her sex. Her eyes fluttered closed as she _felt_ him groan against her. Her nails cut into his shoulders, hard enough to break skin, as his tongue flicked against parts of her that had been untouched for too long.

His hands disappeared from her thighs to grab both her wrists and pin them above her head, his grip tightening briefly before letting go, warning her to keep them there. Her fingers clutched at the pillow as she turned her head and pressed her mouth against her arm to muffle a moan as his hands brushed across her breasts before skimming back down her body to clutch her waist.

Rana soon lost count of how many times he brought her to the brink, only to back off, keeping her just a breath away from release. He did this again... and again… and again. Feasting on her whimpers and moans until she was shaking with need. Each time left her panting, undulating her hips to bring that feeling back. She wanted to strangle him, and would have tried to if she could only just remember how to order her body to do what she wanted it to. But she couldn't, because it was currently his, he had more control over it than she did, and that knowledge would have enraged her if she didn't find it so arousing.

“Sarevok, _please…”_

Her plea turned into a strangled cry when he set back in, devouring her with a hunger that bordered on savagery. Sliding his tongue between her folds, he took her to the edge again and held her there. She rocked her hips up to his mouth, silently begging him to stop playing this game with her. Slipping his hands to her knees, he pressed her legs wider, holding her open to him in an iron grip. She thought she would scream with frustration when he tore his mouth away to suck on her inner thigh. The teasing would kill her, she was sure of it.

_“Please!”_

Her arms dropped down to her sides, clutching the sheets until her knuckles turned white. He let out an agonized growl before he took her clit between his lips to suckle her. Her eyes went wide, then slowly slid shut. His kiss grew more forceful. Unrestrained. Ravenous. The sensations deepened, stronger and stronger as he snarled against her.

“Come for me, Rana.”

Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle her scream as she helplessly obeyed his command. Back arching, nails tearing the linen beneath her palms, Rana surrendered to the fire that rolled through her as he finally allowed her release.

It was only when she felt him drag her toward him that she could open her eyes and even try to focus on anything outside of herself. Kneeling up and hooking her leg around his waist, Sarevok tore at the strings of his breeches.

His eyes burned into hers with a sort of madness, his breaths heaving, and she couldn't stop herself from leaning up to touch him; to run her fingers beneath his shirt to feel the scars and the muscles beneath them.

In a flash, her wrists were pinned back above her head in one of his hands.

“Not going to last with your damn nails in me,” he snarled before kissing her with bruising intensity.

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted her beneath them, positioning her to receive him. She could taste herself on his tongue, and it made her whimper. He wasn't giving either of them time to think, and she was grateful for that. She didn't want her mind to catch up to what was happening. Didn't want to feel trepidation or anything of the sort. She just wanted, just needed, to feel him inside her.

He drew back just enough to look at her, and whatever he saw in her eyes made his grip on her wrists tighten.

“You're mine, Rana. _Say it.”_ He rasped as he took himself in hand, waiting for her reply before finally claiming her.

Before she could, though, the sound of doors bursting open downstairs made them both freeze. Jaheira's voice rang through the house, forcing everyone awake.

_“DROW! DROW IN THE TOWN! ARM YOURSELVES!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler Alert: Sarevok is NOT in a good mood at all next chapter.


	21. Far from Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been trying its hardest to impede all efforts at writing, which is why this took so long. It's supposed to get easier in a few weeks, so pretty soon I hope I can get these out at a nicer pace. In the mean time, I may do something different for the next chapter, as it'll span several days. I've been playing with the idea of writing it as various journal entries, but we'll see. I hope you all enjoy, and thank you for sticking with me through it all.

**Chapter 21: Far from Grace**

 

_Sarevok_

 

The drow priestess he had just killed lay scattered in several pieces around him. Wiping at his face with a section of the woman's cloak to clear away the blood running down into his eyes, Sarevok noticed how ineffectual that gesture was when he was practically soaked in crimson.

His rage had been terrible, even by his own standards. It still was, but slaughtering dark elves for the past couple of hours had taken the edge off of it somewhat.

He had been mere seconds away from finally having Ilyrana. That damned Harper, bellowing about the drow raid, wouldn't have been enough to stop him. It had taken Viconia hissing at them from the other side of the bedroom door, urging them to go downstairs before the others came searching for Rana, to actually force him to surrender her. He presumed the drow had been eavesdropping on their activities, though he wondered why she would bother trying to aid in keeping it a secret. It was apparent by now that the cleric had a personal stake in Rana, as most of the others did, but hers wasn't as glaringly obvious as, say, the priest’s.

Cutting down one of the males, and clenching his fist at how easy this had turned out to be, he brushed Rana's soul with his half to find her, and then began heading in her direction. He would kill the rest of this rabble and then finish what he started. Gods, he could still taste her, and it made it impossible for him to let go of his wrath. He had been _so close._

Another priestess fell before him, whatever spell she had been chanting dying with her, the magic fizzling out in the air around them. Despite how little of a challenge these drow presented, he still enjoyed the fight, albeit not nearly as much as he normally would have.

Rounding a corner, and stepping over the bodies of some of the town folk, he saw that the majority of the raiding party had been focused on The Last Stop, judging by the extensive damage and the congestion of corpses surrounding it. The inn they had previously been staying at, before the girls saw that spider.

He paused at that thought. The drow worshipped the Spider Queen, Lolth.

Spiders…

The one that had been in the girls’ room was supposed to have been large. Not one of the giant species, but certainly bigger than normal, and definitely far from its natural habitat.

Approaching the building, he laughed aloud.

Those foolish girls and their irrational fear of arachnids probably unknowingly saved them all.

He briefly wondered what had happened to the paladin and the priest. They had been grouped together until battle had separated them. Which was for the best, as the sound of Anomen's voice did nothing for his mood. He found himself missing the dwarf, Korgan. Of all Rana's companions, he had been the most agreeable to fight beside.

Lightning struck a few yards away, felling a drow he hadn't noticed. The sudden illumination momentarily blinded him, but it was nothing compared to the effect it would have on any of the dark elves nearby. Infravision could quickly become a disadvantage in a fight against any magic-wielder competent enough to call down lightning or fire.

Searching for said magic-wielder, he eventually saw Jaheira standing just outside the inn, calling down the lightning. As he drew nearer, passing by a few smoking craters in the cobblestone, the smell of ozone growing stronger, the druid glanced up and locked eyes with him. Despite the fury still simmering inside him, he grinned at the hate pouring out of her eyes. The sudden impulse to run her through, with no one but soon-to-be dead drow to witness, had him adjusting his grip on his sword. She noticed.

“By Silvanus, I wish you would try it,” she spat, her palms glowing as she readied her magic. “Give me an excuse, _any_ excuse, to end you, once and for all.”

“Have I not already? The Iron Crisis, Gorion, a handful of other Harpers... forgive me, I never bothered with their names. What more must I do, Jaheira?”

He watched her struggle with her anger, enjoying every second of it.

“Soon, Sarevok, Ilyrana will see you for what you really are and when she does, I'll be there to bear witness for the fallen.”

His ensuing laugh echoed out eerily into the night.

“You honestly believe that, don't you? Oh, Jaheira,” he purred. “I'll let you in on a little secret. Rana already knows. Foolish woman, why do you think she prefers my company to yours? How many years has she had to listen to your self-righteous prattling? Unable to send you away because you brainwashed her into thinking she actually needed your feeble help. I think we both know your time here is almost up. Not much longer now, and Rana will see who she really needs… and who is just dead weight.”

“I vow I will kill you myself before that ever happens. You may have her and some of the others fooled, but I see you, Sarevok Anchev. Even if you succeed in manipulating her into sending me away, and even if I die, you won't ever win. You'll never be a god, and I know Ilyrana. She will _never_ want to be one, either. Which means you will _never_ be anything more than a bad dream come back to haunt us for a time. And when you fade away, again, you will be forgotten. Because you are _nothing.”_

Sarevok lunged forward, his gauntleted hand closing around the druid's throat, squeezing hard enough to ensure no incantation made it past her lips.

The bitch _dared_ say something like that to his face?!

His wrath saved them both.

A white orb of fire slammed into the building, just above the doorway, collapsing the front of the establishment. Both warriors were thrown into the inn proper by the blast, rather than being crushed or incinerated.

His plate armor absorbed most of the damage, only leaving him a little dazed and a ringing in his ears that drowned out most other sound.

Jaheira lay a few feet away, on her back, blood tracking from her ears, and she wasn't moving.

Glancing around, he saw most of the tables and chairs were upturned, windows smashed, and several dozen bodies of the inn’s patrons strewn about. Seeing that none of them were any of Rana's companions, he rose to his feet, bringing his sword up with him, and headed towards the stairs.

The Harper was no longer his concern. He was sure now that the woman's influence over his half-sister had waned to non-existence. If anything, her rabid paranoia would further his own ends. The more she harped on Rana, the further she drove her straight into his arms. Assuming, that is, that she was still alive. He couldn't be bothered to check.

The sound of explosions somewhere in the distance broke through the whine in his ears, and he paused to try and discern what they could be. After a moment, they faded, and he moved on.

Dead drow littered the second level, many of them with a single black feathered arrow protruding from an eye or other exposed area on their bodies.

He felt a tap on his soul, and turned towards the room Rana and Imoen had stayed in days before. The door was blown off its hinges, and very little remained of the bed and nightstand. The window was gone, along with a large section of the wall around it.

“Nice of you to join us.”

Rana sat atop the dresser, one of her knives spinning through her fingers, her eyes glinting from the taint’s reaction to the carnage. Her hair was mussed, her leather armor was bloody, and she had a streak of soot across one cheek. Turning to the only other person in the room, Viconia, who was rifling through the pouches of a headless dark elf, he stabbed his sword into the floor and began removing his gauntlets.

“Get out.”

The cleric looked up at him, one eyebrow raised.

“I know you're not speaking to _me,_ male. Don't let our Ilyrana's favor go to your head. _Lest you lose both.”_

“The druid requires your assistance downstairs,” he bit out, regretting that excuse to make her leave.

“Is she dying?”

“Hopefully.”

Rana cleared her throat and cast him a disapproving look. Such a pity the effect was lost by the humor shining in her eyes.

“Very well. I'll remind you that there are still more drow roaming the town, and the others aren't far from here.”

Very soon he was going to have to interrogate Viconia about her protectiveness of Rana and her secrets. But not now.

Tossing his gauntlets down next to his sword, he stepped toward the girl, turning his back on the departing cleric. Just as his hands were about to come to rest around her waist, he felt the prick of her knife at his throat.

“Ah ah. Not a good idea right now, Sarevok. I'm afraid I may have overindulged on the drow and the Slayer is uncomfortably close to the surface. Best to keep your distance.”

“While your concern is appreciated, it is unnecessary,” he replied, raising his hand to grasp her wrist. “I do not fear the Slayer. You forget, I know how to bring you back from it.”

Exerting enough pressure to lower her arm, he was confused to find that it was harder than it should be. Rana noticed his furrowed brow and smirked up at him.

“By overindulged, I mean I channeled the taint more so than was probably wise. If you don't want my knife at your throat, you're going to have to try a little harder than that,” she purred.

Which meant she was indeed growing more powerful with the death of the other bhaalspawn. If using their father's power was making her _this_ strong, he could only imagine how much stronger she'd be after killing more of the Five.

And when she's a goddess.

His other hand shot out to fist in her hair, pulling her head back. Letting go of her wrist, he slid his hand to her knee and pushed her legs open, stepping between them. He felt the edge of her steel cut into his skin, deep enough to draw blood.

“I don't have to use brute force to make you submit, pet,” he murmured, slowly leaning down to brush his lips against hers.

“Sarevok, this is for _your_ safety-”

He took her bottom lip between his teeth. She stopped breathing. Biting down just hard enough to make her whimper, he used this distraction to grab her knife, prying it from her fingers before she could react. Reaching over, he slammed it to the hilt into the dresser beside her.

He answered her enraged snarl by pulling her against him, lamenting his armor because he couldn't feel her, and kissing her. His hand tightened in her hair when her tongue met his. He felt her gloved fingers brush the stubble on his cheek. Felt her growl of frustration that she, too, couldn't feel him.

The smell of blood and death, the distant clash of steel and the yells of the town guard, all of it reminded him of Saradush. Of the chaos of war. He could think of no one else he would rather be with right now than her.

He ended the kiss long before he wanted to, but now was not the time to lose himself in her. Not with the drow around. Or her companions, though he cared less about that with each passing moment with her. Let them see her with him. He _wanted_ them to know who she belonged to. And that despite how powerful she was becoming, it was _he_ she surrendered herself to.

Stepping back with some reluctance, he grinned at the look on her face.

“Soon,” he promised her.

“About that-”

The sound of footsteps rapidly coming up the stairs cut her off. Yanking his sword out of the floor, he turned towards the door, noting Rana had slid off the dresser and taken up her bow.

“My raven, it's Imoen!” Haer'Dalis panted as he reached them. “The taint, it's like before at the hot springs!”

Rana brushed past him to follow the bard. Sarevok followed just behind her.

“What happened?” Rana demanded, and the tiefling began to explain.

Sarevok stopped suddenly as he noticed a shadow moving down the hall, towards one of the last rooms. Turning back, he watched Rana and Haer'Dalis disappear out of a broken window on the ground level. Viconia was bent over Jaheira, presumably healing her.

Rana could handle herself. Especially with this temporary infusion of strength.

Making his way down the hall, past rooms of peasants butchered in their sleep by the dark elves, he reached the last room on the left. The door was closed, and locked. Taking a step back, Sarevok surged forward, throwing his shoulder into it. It crashed open to reveal one of the males, a fighter judging by his armor, lying on the floor, propped up on one elbow, and mortally wounded.

Red eyes locked with his, and the elf hissed out a curse in his mother tongue. Sarevok took note of the gaping stomach wound, and the bone protruding from his shin.

Chuckling under his breath, he turned and righted the door so that it could close as much as it was able. He heard the drow try and scramble up to attack while his back was turned, just as he predicted he might.

His backhand across the elf's face would have been lethal if he had put his gauntlets back on. Instead, it merely dazed him.

“Do you speak common?” He asked it.

The drow spat blood and tried to rise. Sighing, Sarevok pressed his foot down on his shin, feeling the bone poking up into his boot. To his credit, the drow made far less noise than he expected, but eventually, he began to snarl at him in the common tongue.

“Do you belong to Sendai?”

“I'll tell you nothing, human!”

“I was hoping you'd say that.”

He regretted that he didn't have the proper tools with him to extract information, but he would make do.

Before the elf could move, he plunged his sword through the wound in his stomach, avoiding the spine. Withdrawing a healing potion from his bag, he knelt beside the gurgling drow, pried his mouth open, and poured half of it down his throat.

Poking at the flesh around the sword, he frowned and forced a bit more liquid into him. Satisfied that he had healed enough that he wouldn't bleed out, but also not be able to go anywhere with his blade skewering him, he drew out his amber and jet dagger.

“Now. I'll ask again. Do you serve Sendai?”

“Do what you will, human scum, I will not talk.”

Six fingernails later, Sarevok learned that the drow did indeed serve Sendai.

“Where is her enclave located?”

“May Lolth feast upon your-”

Using one hand to cup the elf's mouth to muffle the screams, he began peeling a section of flesh from his torso. His dagger wasn't ideal for this, but again, he would make do.

“Where is her enclave located?”

When the drow tried to bite his hand, he twirled the knife so that he grasped the blade, then jabbed the drow in the mouth with the handle, knocking out a few of his teeth.

“Where is her enclave located?”

Still nothing.

Running out of skin on the man's stomach, he tapped the shin bone a few times in thought.

“I'll make your death quick and relatively painless, drow, if you tell me what I want to know. If you don't, you'll still die, but not anytime soon. And I have enough healing draught to keep you alive for quite some time.”

“Nothing you can do… that's any worse… than what she'll do…”

“You aren't going back, so that's not a concern for you.”

“Never tell a human-”

Sarevok took hold of the bone and began to twist.

Eventually, the dark elf told him where Sendai’s enclave was. He needed to check, but he was almost certain it _wasn't_ where the map that Melissan had given them said it was.

He felt Rana's soul brush his, perceived her panicked concern for her sister, as well as an underlying need for his presence, for some kind of comfort. Then he felt her recoil away from him. Puzzled at her reaction, he reached out to her, and hissed in a breath at her sudden rage. Flashbacks of being tortured by Irenicus assailed them both as Rana saw what he had been doing to the drow.

Images of knives and scalpels, white hot pincers and foot long needles, swam unbidden into view, momentarily stunning him. Irenicus's face, followed by unimaginable pain in Rana's abdomen, then seeing something so horrible that her mind had blanked it out, leaving him in the dark, filled with her bone-deep fear and suffocating anguish.

The whole thing couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds at best, but when she snapped the link between them, and suddenly the room and the dying drow came back into focus, exhaustion weighed on him as if it had been hours.

Gritting his teeth, he yanked his sword out of the elf's stomach and left, not caring that he'd given his word he would reward any information with a quick death.

When he got downstairs, he saw Jaheira and Viconia talking to Valygar. As he approached, he waited for the druid to start yelling about his attempt to end her pathetic life. When she only glanced up at him in annoyance before dismissing his presence, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“We need to get Jaheira back to the house,” Valygar told him when he saw him. “That blast did more damage than Viconia can heal at the moment. She needs rest.”

Was the ranger trying to say that Jaheira had suffered a serious enough head injury that she couldn't remember their little confrontation? He would have laughed if he wasn't somewhat disappointed. He would have liked to have seen who Valygar and Viconia would have believed. All he would have had to say was he had merely been trying to get the Harper out of the way of that blast.

Ah well, she would remember eventually.

“I’ll return with her,” Viconia stated while hefting her mace. “I'm all but useless until I can rest as well, _and_ I don't wish to be mistaken as part of the raiding party by this town’s rabble.”

Sarevok and Valygar watched the women leave.

“They'll be all right,” Valygar said as if to reassure himself of the fact.

Sarevok snorted and shook his head. He didn't care if the druid died on the way back to the house. He didn't particularly care if Viconia did either, but the prospect of her as an ally, or at least someone who supported his involvement with Rana, did mean he felt somewhat invested in her welfare. He could do nothing to ensure her safety at the moment, though.

Following that slight pull on his soul that indicated where Rana was located, he was thankful the ranger wasn't one for small talk, as he had much to think on and little time to do it.

He hadn't paused to consider how Rana would feel about torturing that drow for information. Logic dictated that they needed Sendai's whereabouts before moving forward. Had she not discovered what he had been doing, he might have been able to discover the extent of Sendai's military might, what kind of allies she had, and what sort of defenses they could expect to face.

Not that he would have actively tried to keep the torture a secret, but he strongly suspected she would have accepted whatever information he had to give her and not ask any questions about _how_ he got it. Seeing it though, through their soul, made it impossible for her to ignore, it seemed.

He felt momentarily concerned that she may try and use it to reinforce the crumbling walls she insisted on throwing up between them. Though, he was confident he could coax her to forget. All he had to do was think about how she had been putty in his hands only hours ago.

His self-assurance flagged when they turned down toward the market square. Or what was left of it.

Smoldering shops, demolished produce carts, and charred corpses of not only drow, but the guard, and the locals, were what greeted them as he and Valygar approached what had been a bustling marketplace before the sun went down.

“What could have done this?” The ranger whispered, an arrow knocked on his bow, while they picked their way through the debris, searching for Rana and the others.

Sarevok didn't answer, because he had an unsettling idea of who was responsible, even if he struggled to wrap his mind around it. Those loud, thunderous booms he'd heard earlier, that's what had caused this.

The destruction worsened as they went through. In some areas, the cobblestone had been reduced to sand, and parts of the bodies appeared to have been vaporized.

“Rana!”

The girl didn't react to Sarevok's call, though she must have heard him. Standing alone within a crater, with her arms wrapped around herself, and her head bowed so that her hair obscured her face, she didn't look up or respond. Her lack of reaction made his unease grow teeth and start to gnaw at him.

“Rana, what happened?” He demanded as they neared her.

Reaching out, he lifted her chin to make her look at him, and the blank starkness that stared back at him could almost scare him.

“Rana? Sweetheart, where's Imoen?” Valygar asked her when she didn't reply.

Wordlessly, she raised her arm and pointed toward a smoking pile of rubble. Beside it, Haer'Dalis and Anomen bent over an unconscious Imoen. The ranger shot him a concerned look, then jogged toward the others to investigate.

“Rana, talk to me. What happened here?” Sarevok asked, smoothing her tangled hair away from her face.

“It's all my fault… I never taught her how to control it. Even after… after Mazzy, the earthquake, I didn't talk to her about it. I've been so self-absorbed. I could have prevented this. She's never going to forgive herself. I have to convince her that it's not her fault. _It's mine!”_

Rana tried to back away from him, to turn away and hide the tears. Without a second thought, he pulled her to him, knowing that if she shut him out he'd have Hell getting her back. She resisted, but she was tired, her borrowed strength waning by the second, and didn't struggle against him for long. With a sob, she rested her forehead against his breastplate.

“Whatever techniques you've created to control the taint, however it is you've managed to fight it as you have over these years, you cannot expect to teach Imoen these things in time to stop this from happening. She is a mage, I don't know if it's even possible for her to prevent the taint from weaving itself into her magic.”

“I should have at least been trying! Every time I lose control, it's only my enemies who suffer for it. I may put my allies in danger, but I've never inadvertently caused their death! And there's never been innocents killed!”

“Bah, they knew what they signed up for! If they still choose to follow you, after seeing the Slayer, then they have already accepted the possibility of dying in your service. And she likely saved more townspeople than she killed tonight, so stop wringing your hands over those worthless lives lost in the crossfire.”

Rana hissed and pushed herself away from him, her eyes reflecting the light of the embers scattered across the area.

“It's that easy for you, isn't it? To just write off the lives of these people. There could be children smoldering in this rubble, Sarevok!”

“Yes, it is that easy, little one. Don't pretend that it's not the same for you. You can play at being a compassionate heroine with the others, but don't pull that shit with me. _I_ know better. I know _you._ You care about your sister's feelings, not about these peasants.”

“And the children, my _aegisess?”_

Hearing those words, that elvish nickname she had given him when they were young, made his blood burn.

_My protector._

He'd forgotten she used to call him that. That term of endearment could be almost funny now, after everything, but was he not that once more? Was he not protecting her once again?

Had she not reminded him of their childhood, he would have simply said that children often die in war, she knew this better than anyone. But, he couldn't bring himself to be so callous about it now.

“It's late in the night, I doubt there were any close enough to the market to be caught in this. Worry for the ones being sheltered in their homes. The houses the drow have sacked. I do not believe our sister killed any of them, my _dhaer.”_

_My shadow._

He watched the effect her _own_ nickname had on her, saw the way her eyes softened as she gazed up at him, wanting to believe he was right about the younglings. He also saw the moment she remembered him torturing the drow.

Before she could muster her rage, he pulled her close once more.

“Say it again, little one,” he murmured.

“What?”

“You know what.”

“You get off on this sort of thing, don't you?”

“Yes. Now say it.”

Her lips quirked, but her humor faded just as swiftly as it was sparked.

“Don't think I haven't forgotten about the torture. I have strict rules against that, as I explained to you when I allowed you to join me. I should send you away for that.”

“Don't play games with me, Rana. You won't. And we both know it.”

“No. I won't… my _aegisess._ But I don't forgive something like that easily. You know better than the rest why I feel so strongly about this.”

“We needed the information-”

“And Irenicus needed my soul.”

_“Do not compare me to him, Rana.”_

“Then don't showcase the similarities.”

“My lady, Imoen is waking!”

She moved to go around him, to go to her sister. He stopped her with a hand on her waist.

“There are _no_ similarities,” he growled down at her, refusing to let her walk away from him. “You and I may have been enemies before, but I never would have done the things he did to you, even when I hated you as fiercely as I did.”

“What do you want from me, Sarevok?” She asked softly, her voice a direct contrast to her rising fury. “My body. My power. What lengths are you willing to go to in order to possess either? To possess both? Tell me again that you're nothing like him and I'll call you a liar.”

_“Watch your tongue-”_

“My lady, is there a problem?”

“No, Anomen. I'm coming.”

Clenching his fist, he turned and pinned the priest with a glowing stare. The other man gripped his mace and shifted his weight, as if he actually had the balls to attack. Sarevok wished he would, wished he could exorcise everything on the fool.

Rana was upset, wasn't seeing things clearly. Once she'd assured herself that Imoen was all right, and had helped alleviate the girl's guilt by taking it upon herself like some kind of Painbearer of Ilmater, she would see that Sarevok had tortured that drow for good reason. That he had done it for _her,_ not because he had desired to.

And that he bore _zero_ resemblance to Irenicus.

His frustration over the past several hours prevented him from even considering if there was any truth to her words. Or, perhaps, there was just enough fear, deep, deep down, that she may be right.

* * *

 

_Ilyrana_

 

_“Oh, gods! What have I done?! Those people… those poor, poor, people… WHAT HAVE I DONE?!”_

Imoen's screaming sobs tore at Rana, and she fell to her knees beside the girl and held her tightly, trying to keep her from falling apart entirely.

_My fault. This is all. My. Fault. This is what I get for being so wrapped up in myself, and Yoshimo's letter, and Sarevok. I should have been working with her to fight this._

“Sissy, listen to me-”

 _“NO!”_ Imoen screeched, shoving Rana away hard enough that she fell back on one elbow. “Fuck you, Rana! Where were you?! Why weren't you here when they ambushed us?! Why did you stay at the inn, getting your rocks off with Viconia over how many drow the two of you could kill together?! I wouldn't have had to use anything this big if you had been here! _Stay the Hell away from me!”_

Imoen rose unsteadily to her feet, her eyes red with pain and exhaustion.

“My wildflower, don't blame your sister, she couldn't have known-”

_“Don't you dare defend her!”_

“Imoen, you need to calm down,” Valygar said soothingly. “You'll bring any remaining drow down on us.”

_“Of course you'll take her side! You've been in love with her for forever! Nothing you say matters, Valygar!”_

“That's enough!” Rana snapped, getting to her feet. “You have every right to be upset and pissed off at me, but you're being irrational-”

Before anyone could react in time to intervene, Imoen snarled out a few arcane words, and three magic missiles struck Rana across the chest.

_“IMOEN!”_

Valygar flung himself on Imoen, pinning her wrists to the ground, his face contorted with rage. Imoen bucked him off as if he weighed nothing. Rising to one knee, her voice rising in a chant, she swung her arm up, fingers pointing at her sister, and a Flame Arrow shot forth.

Rana's defensive enchantments had absorbed most of the impact from the magic missiles, but she had still staggered from the shock of the attack. Sarevok caught her from behind, then shoved her behind him, in time to take the fiery projectile in the shoulder.

 _“Fucking knock her out!”_ He roared at Anomen, who had remained still and quiet since Imoen had come to.

The priest cast a Command spell, forcing Imoen to fall asleep. Sarevok withdrew what remained of a healing potion and downed it, scowling down at the slagged remains of one pauldron.

Rana sank to her knees beside her sister, her eyes wide, and her expression hollow and tired.

She knew it was the taint that had goaded Imoen into attacking her, but the gravity of her own guilt shrouded that fact. Her sister was right, if she hadn't remained behind at the inn after clearing it out, if she hadn't stayed to snipe anymore oncoming drow with Viconia, Imoen wouldn't have felt the need to use a spell as destructive as whatever the fuck it was she had used.

“We're going back. _Now,”_ Valygar hissed out through gritted teeth.

Sliding his arms under her body, the ranger lifted Imoen in his arms and turned to look at the rest. His face reminded her of back at the hot springs, after telling him they had to leave Mazzy's body behind. Reaching up, she brushed his arm with her fingertips, but he did not acknowledge her.

Sarevok took the lead, sword in hand. Haer'Dalis followed, casting a sorrowful look at his lover, then at Rana, who rose to walk beside Valygar while Anomen took up the rear.

“The _fuck_ was that, Rana?” The ranger snarled.

“The taint, it must still have a stranglehold on her to have pushed her to attack me like that. And to have the strength to throw you off of her. Thank the gods magic missiles and a flame arrow was all she seemed to have left to hit me with.”

“Yeah, instead of whatever the Hell it was she used to decimate this place.”

“A Meteor Swarm spell,” Haer'Dalis supplied softly.

“Um, no. Imoen can't handle a spell that powerful.”

“I'm sorry to contradict you, my raven, but she _can._ I don't know how she managed it, but I remember our red wizard casting it once before, this was the same. Well, that's untrue. It _wasn't_ the same, because this was far stronger, but it definitely _was_ a Meteor Swarm.”

“Where the Hell did she learn it?! And what happened here exactly?”

“We heard the town guard shouting for aid when we set off from the inn. When we came to the market, Sir Anomen was already there, attempting to rally them, so we jumped in to help. It looked like we had gotten everything under control, but it was a trap. This sparrow believes they were waiting for you, my raven, and Imoen as well, because several of their priestesses appeared out of nowhere and began hurling spells at her, ignoring the rest of us. While we tried to defend against their onslaught, more of their fighters began materializing out of the shadows on all sides. Nearly all of the town guard that was here was cut down, and those that survived died in the Meteor Swarm that Imoen called down when it looked like we were about to be overwhelmed.”

Raw fury coursed through her veins at the very thought of Imoen thinking of making a last stand like that. That she even thought she _had_ to. When Rana was only minutes away from her location, basking in the violence of the night while no one was around to judge her. Imoen was more important than all that. And Rana had failed her.

“This wasn't your fault, Rana,” Valygar replied in a low tone after a while. “We all shouldn't have allowed ourselves to become separated. We know better than that. We got cocky, we've overcome far worse odds than a drow raid, so we didn't take this is as seriously as we should have. We've also been sick of being cooped up, waiting on reinforcements and more information, that we saw this as a welcome distraction, rather than a serious threat. At least that's how it felt for me.”

Rana bit her tongue so hard that blood pooled in her mouth before the pain could even register. She wanted to lash out at him, to scream that Imoen was right, he was too in love with her to place the blame where it rightfully belonged. Even if the rest of what he'd said was probably right, she wanted to seize on the olive branch of blame absolution that he was trying to offer her and tear it to pieces.

She remained silent. She knew his feelings for her didn't run that deeply, and that his only mistake was being logical when she wanted to be anything but.

“My lady, we may need to consider some kind of magical restraints or dampener. If Imoen is strong enough for this kind of magic, and she's unable to control it _or_ the taint, we may not be able to subdue her next time she snaps.”

“You did _NOT_ just suggest putting a muzzle on my sister, Sir Anomen.”

“Hold your tongue, berk! No one's putting a collar on anyone while I yet walk this plane!”

“It was only a thought!” Anomen replied defensively. “I don't like seeing you hurt, Ilyrana!”

“While your concern is touching,” Sarevok sneered without turning around. “Suggesting we restrain Imoen because of her tainted power also implies we should be shackling Rana as well, because, you know, she can turn into a demonic killing machine on a whim.”

“He's got a point,” Valygar replied snidely, casting a look back at the knight, before lowering his voice so only Rana could hear. “Though, if we're being honest here, the idea of shackling you probably turns them both on.”

Rana cocked her elbow to deliver a devastating jab at his ribs, only to swear profusely that she couldn't without risking him dropping Imoen. Valygar still swerved away from her. Just in case.

“Little one, look up ahead.”

Casting a departing dark look at Valygar, Rana hurried forward to join Sarevok.

The horizon was just barely beginning to lighten with the dawn. The sight of it brought to mind the morning of the hot springs ambush. Which felt like eons ago.

The Rookery stood among the oaks in the distance, and Rana could see the barely discernible glow of defensive magics cast by Viconia before they had departed to fight the drow.

“What am I looking at?” She asked, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

He didn't answer. He didn't need to. As the seconds passed, she could see that the light was waning, not growing stronger.

And Rana realized she was looking west, not east.

“A False Dawn.”

“Recently cast, too.”

Picking up their pace, and with weapons ready, they moved closer to home. Making sure Valygar and Imoen remained in the middle, they wove between the trees, stepping carefully over the upraised roots.

As if there wasn't already enough to worry about, now Rana was scared that something may have happened to Chauntia, Mezoar, and Rook while they were gone. They had sealed the house and told them to wait in the wine cellar, but anything could have happened.

The front doors were still locked, with no signs of attempted entry, so they went around to the access door in the back.

Dozens of dead drow littered the ground around the trees. Several more were still alive, trying to rise to their feet. Sarevok and Rana swiftly took care of them while the others were let inside by Keldorn.

“What happened here?”

“When Anomen, Sarevok, and I got separated, I felt my presence may be needed back here, so I returned. There were scouts posted in the trees, and I did what I could to take them out. Eventually, Viconia and Jaheira showed up. The drow attacked while I was letting them inside. We pushed them back, but they inevitably began taking out Viconia's defensive spells. She used the False Dawn before they could get through. Torm help us if there are any more of them.”

As they entered the dining room, Rana sagged with relief at the sight of the others. Chauntia and Mezoar sat at the table, nursing cups of spiked coffee, tired and scared, but okay. Rook _merped!_ from Chauntia's lap and bounded toward her, ran up her leg, and curled up in her arms.

Viconia snored on a pallet on the floor, wiped out from casting all those spells. Jaheira sat in one of the chairs, exhausted but alert, her eyes fixed on Sarevok.

“What happened to Imoen?” Keldorn asked while Haer’Dalis set up another pallet near Viconia so Valygar could lay her down.

“She used a Meteor Swarm spell at the market when we were being overwhelmed,” Anomen replied grimly. “And then she attacked Ilyrana and I was forced to put her to sleep.”

“Gods above, if the taint is pushing _her_ to this-”

“I suggested some type of restraining-”

“Which _isn't_ happening-”

“You dare bring that up again!”

“Now isn't the time for such a discussion!” Keldorn shouted over the others.

“There _won't_ be a time for such a discussion,” Rana snarled.

“Keldorn’s right,” Jaheira agreed. “We have more important things to discuss. Like that _animal_ trying to kill me back at the inn!”

Rana looked at who the druid was pointing at, then cursed under her breath when she saw it was Sarevok. His face was one of slight confusion, and maybe it was their shared soul or that she'd been around him long enough to notice his tells, but she was positive he knew exactly what he was being accused of.

“What is she talking about, Sarevok?”

“Yes. Tell her, Sarevok! How, if not for one of the drow launching a fireball at the inn, you would have killed me. Or tried to.”

“I see your head must still be rattled by that blast, Jaheira. Perhaps you should lie down?” Sarevok replied with mock concern.

_“You dare deny it?!”_

“Deny what? Trying to shove you out of the way of falling debris? My apologies if your pride can't handle my saving your life.”

“Just before that fireball, you grabbed me by the throat to-”

“I heard the spell being chanted and lunged at you to push you inside the inn to avoid being hit. I won't be held responsible for whatever paranoid delusions your mind conjured to cover the fact that _I_ saved your ass.”

He's… lying. Rana's heart began to pound as she became more sure of that fact.

“And why would you care enough to save her, abomination?” Anomen demanded.

“Um, because I would have been caught by that blast as well. She was standing in the way, and there wasn't enough time to exchange insults, so I acted.”

Jaheira's look of frustration and rage made it hard to ignore that needling feeling that she was indeed telling the truth.

“Jaheira, are you absolutely certain of what you're saying?” Valygar asked.

 _“Yes!_ You honestly believe I would make this up?! Are you so blind to what he is that you would question me?”

“It's a serious accusation. And you _were_ badly rattled when Viconia healed you. Not to mention, she couldn't do a full healing with what she had left.”

“I drank a healing potion when I got back here! I didn't want to say anything back at the inn, I wanted everyone assembled when I revealed what he tried to pull.”

Rana hugged Rook closer to her chest. She couldn't think. There was too much to think about, and she just couldn't process this on top of everything else.

“I believe she's telling the truth,” Anomen exclaimed, rounding on Keldorn.

The paladin looked at all of them, his grave face lined with weariness.

“Of course you do,” Sarevok laughed. “Anyone could level any sort of accusation at me and you'd swallow it without question. It's her word against mine. And while I can't stand to be around her, _I'm_ not the one who's been trying to turn everyone against her by going to each of you in turn and ranting about having her gone. _As she's been doing with me since I was brought back.”_

It scared her how convincing he could be. How such conviction could ring in his words when they were untrue.

_“Because I appear to be the only one here who has not forgotten what you are, Sarevok Anchev!”_

“No one else here besides Rana, Imoen, and the drow were there during my attempt at ascension, Jaheira. Do you see _them_ rambling about me plotting and scheming? Have _they_ been leading this witch hunt with you? No, fool, it is only you who can't let the past go.”

“Imoen believes as I do!”

“And yet she hasn't been trying to poison the minds of the others as you have. Enough of this deception, Jaheira. You've been chafing at my resurrection and doing everything you can to convince everyone else that I should be put back down. Now, when no one else was around to see it, you say I attacked you. Even though we both know if I intended to kill you, you would be dead.”

“Godchild, listen to me. I know you and I don't always see eye to eye, especially where Sarevok is concerned, but you _must_ believe me!”

Rana looked at her, feeling torn about what to do.

“Can you provide some sort of proof?” She finally asked, knowing the druid damn well couldn't.

She suddenly hated the both of them for putting her into this position. She was positive Jaheira was telling the truth. That Sarevok had indeed tried to kill her. She was also sure that Jaheira had likely been antagonizing him. What she _didn't_ know was if the other woman had done so in order to provoke exactly that reaction. Regardless, Sarevok needed to keep a better handle on his anger. If he cared about Rana at all, he would understand that she couldn't afford to lose anymore companions.

“I cannot. You have long trusted my word, child. I am asking you to continue doing so now and _believe me.”_

“Ah, yes. The word of a Harper,” Sarevok sneered. “How could she not possibly have any reservations over that?”

“That's enough,” Rana snapped. “I can't lose either of you right now. In case you've forgotten, we were just attacked by a drow raiding party. The city guard has been decimated, along with who knows how many of the buildings and residents. I'm sure at least some of them have gone back to report to Sendai, so she'll know for certain our location. Both of you just stay the hell away from each other from now on. If I see _either_ of you starting shit with the other, you'll be dismissed or worse, I swear.”

She pinned them both with a fierce look, adding more fury to her gaze when Sarevok only regarded her mildly in return, as if doubting her words really applied to him as well.

“Now, what do we know about what happened? Where did they come from? How many of them were there? Did they have allies within the city? Were they targeting particular places or people other than us? Jaheira, you were the one who reported the raid, tell me you have some answers.”

The druid stared at her for a long moment. Rana stared back, waiting, too tired for this shit.

“I was investigating around the old mine entrances when I saw them,” she eventually began. “They were coming out of the shafts and spreading out. I alerted the guard and then came straight here to wake everyone.”

“Okay, so the mines link up to her enclave. Do we know how extensive they are? Or maybe we can find some old blueprints or ask the mayor or something.”

“I was able to find out that the entrance to her stronghold is behind a collapsed mine shaft. An illusion spell is in place to disguise it.”

“Who told you that?” Anomen asked Sarevok incredulously.

“A drow.”

“He just offered you that kind of information?”

“Something like that, yes. There's some sort of old dwarven architecture near it, that's how we'll know where it's hidden.”

“Okay, now do we have an idea of their numbers?” Rana asked before Anomen could press further.

She had enough on her plate without Sarevok announcing how he got his information.

_Fuck this night._

“Judging by the ones we encountered at the inn, along the way, and the market, I'd say upwards of fifty,” Haer’Dalis supplied.

“Speaking of, why were they focusing so much of their efforts on the Last Stop?”

“I have a theory on that,” Sarevok replied. “Do you remember that spider that was in your room there?”

“Of course,” Valygar whispered. “It had to have been a scout. Maybe there was a second that reported back, or perhaps one of their priestesses was controlling it when it was killed. They must have discovered once they got here that we were no longer there, and had bought a house here in the city.”

“Which means this place will be the focus of their next attack. Unless we hit them first.”

“Which we can't do until the others arrive.”

“All right,” Keldorn said thoughtfully. “We'll post look outs, just as we do when we're traveling. One on the mines, and one around the house. Until we get reinforcements, we have to assume an attack is imminent at any time during any night. I highly doubt they'll launch an offensive during the day, when they're at a dire disadvantage. We have about a week or so before our old comrades begin to show. In the meantime, we can help these people rebuild and fortify their town. I'll ask about getting an audience with the mayor. Valygar, are you still wanting to go to that ranger outpost?”

“Aye, but tonight changes things doesn't it? Would you feel comfortable with me gone for a day or two?”

“Rana?”

“Sendai may be the one responsible for those missing kids. Or she may not. Either way, we know where she is now, which isn't in the location Balthazar's map indicated, which reinforces my suspicions that he's been trying to herd us into an easy position to take us out. Go to the outpost, ask about the little ones, and if they've seen a dragon flying around. Once we've dealt with Sendai, we'll need the proper coordinates for Abazigal's lair before we can act.”

“All right,” Valygar answered. “Now, does anyone mind if I get some sleep before I leave or…”

“Go to bed, Val. Sun's coming up, so go ahead and sleep in your room. I don't think we'll all need to bunk in the dining room once daylight is upon us.”

He gave a mock salute and turned to stumble off towards his bedroom.

Rana looked at Keldorn, hoping he'd dole out lookout duties. He must have taken the hint cause he gave her a small, tired smile.

“I'll go see if there's anyone left within the town guard, and if so, see if they can help us with standing guard over the mines. Anomen, would you mind keeping an eye on things outside around the house? Everyone else should get some rest. We'll rotate watches when Viconia and Imoen wake up.”

With that settled, Rana went and knelt beside Imoen, brushing the girl's fiery hair away from her face.

_I'll make things right. As I should have already been doing. I promise you, Im. You won't have to stain your soul anymore. Mine’s bad enough, a little more won't matter._

“She'll be out for a few hours, my lady. Best to let her sleep, but if you want me to, I can dispel the enchantment.”

“No, she needs her strength. I'm going to try and get a couple hours myself. If she wakes before I do, can you come get me?”

“Of course.”

Rana rose and set off for her room, feeling the eyes of the others on her back as she left.

Especially Jaheira's.

She didn't have a clue what else could be done. Gods know she didn't particularly care much for the woman anymore, but she was still a valuable ally. And had suffered more than most during this journey. It would require far more cruelty than Rana currently had in her to ignore that. She'd just have to talk to Sarevok. To remind him that _he_ worked for _her._ Regardless of whatever was going on between them, and whatever happened in the future, she needed to be able to trust him not to pose a threat to the others.

She feared his arrogance made him believe he was all she needed. That the others had suddenly become expendable just because of what they were doing together.

Her earlier words, about him being like Irenicus, hadn't been entirely spoken with earnest. The memory of her own torture made it difficult to separate the intention behind the act. They had needed the information. And she certainly didn't care about the drow. What Sarevok did to him was kind compared to what that disgusting race did on a regular basis just among themselves.

“Rana.”

Sighing, she stopped just at her door, hand resting on the handle.

“What is it, Sarevok?”

She felt him at her back, and couldn't suppress a shiver when his fingers brushed her waist.

“You and I need to talk.”

They did. But not alone in her room. With the memory of what they had done in her bed hanging over them. Even now, her body ached with want at the thought of finishing what was started. It was strong enough that she nearly agreed, knowing full well that the moment the door was locked, the importance of their discussion would rapidly begin to wane.

“I don't think that's a good idea right now,” she whispered without turning around, finding it easier to hold her ground when she didn't have to look into his eyes.

“Why? Because of what that Harper said?”

“Yes, part of it is because of what Jaheira said. Was she lying?”

“Rana-”

 _“Was_ she lying?” She asked again, turning around to see his face while he answered.

“I’ve killed others for far less than what she said-”

She felt that warm blanket of relief envelop her and savored it for a second. If he had tried to lie to her about that…

“And the next time Anomen pops off at you? Will you kill him? Leaving me down two fighters? Two healers? I _need_ these people if I hope to even survive long enough to _consider_ ascension, Sarevok!”

“No, what you need is to discard those who continue to question you and replace them with beings far more powerful and loyal.”

“By offering them what in return? False promises about the power and wealth they'll have if they help me ascend? That's you, Sarevok, that isn't me. These people have been with me for far longer than you have, and while I may not be overly fond of some of them, they've all bled for me. Jaheira lost her husband to Irenicus. He'd still be alive if they hadn't stayed to help me.”

“That coward-”

“Stop. Just… stop. I'm going to bed before you dig yourself deeper. I suggest you do the same.”

She turned around, opened her door, stepped inside, shut it, _locked it,_ and sighed. Looking down at Rook, who gazed sleepily up at her from the warm confines of her arms, she told the kitten the only thing that felt real at the moment.

“Your father's an asshole.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last line was totally unexpected, and my exhausted self thought it was hilarious so I went ahead and kept it.


	22. Ouroboros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **********WARNING**********
> 
> This chapter contains graphic depictions of mutilation, as well as an attempted suicide. 
> 
> *******************************
> 
> I wanted to do something a bit different and write journal entries. Once I'd gotten the outline of this chapter down, though, it left little room for it, so there's only the one in the beginning. I hope I can do more in the future, as it was fun to change things up.
> 
> This chapter is pretty all over the place, by necessity, and it really drives home the current mental states of both Rana and Sarevok. There's a journal entry, dreams, both PoV's, and this spans about two days time. There's also some very sensitive material, which is why I put the warning, some big internal moments for Sarevok, and some more really heavy stuff.
> 
> It was supposed to include a lot more, but it was getting somewhat long, and I didn't want what happens to be buried under the rest of what's coming.

**Chapter 22: Ouroboros**

 

_Ilyrana_

 

_I had another dream._

_This was a new one, and thank the shadows, my subconscious’s usual stars were absent this time._

_No Sarevok._

_No Irenicus._

_No Bhaal._

_No Slayer._

_I was back at Saradush. After the city had fallen to Yaga Shura’s forces. It should have reeked of death and decay, but it smelled like… honeysuckle? And primrose. Lilacs, too. Well, also blood, but that's not an altogether unpleasant smell. I would say it reminded me of Candlekeep, outside in the gardens, but that pervasive musty smell of old parchment and the rank body odor of robed old men was absent. Even in the fresh air, that smell would still linger._

_I walked through the body strewn streets, and how I didn't lose my footing among the rubble, I'll never know. I'd like to attribute it to my natural grace, but let's be honest here, even for an elf, my grace is rather hit or miss._

_The blood and ichor was still fresh, but I never slipped._

_Ash blew so thickly through the empty city that I should have hacked the whole way, but I breathed deep and never once so much as sneezed._

_Gromnir's keep was so choked with dead that I couldn't enter. I was a little sad. I never did set foot in there._

_I remember talking to Melissan as she helped me enter the city, can remember her urging me to seek an audience with my half-orc brother to try and make him see reason. To call for aid and mount an offensive before the walls were breached._

_Something about her had seemed… off. Yoshimo's betrayal still clung to my heart so fiercely that I recognized the duplicitous gleam in her eyes, having seen it in my former lover’s, but hadn't been able or willing to interpret it at the time._

_So I ignored her advice. Stocked up on arrows, spells, potions, and rumors, and left to find a way to kill an immortal half-giant. By the time I had returned, ready to kill the unkillable, Yaga Shura's army had already broken through the ramparts and slain Gromnir._

_Having been well acquainted with another half-orc some years ago, I can just assume he wasn't much for conversation. I doubt I missed a whole lot in not meeting him._

_Swarms of biting flies rose up from the mounds of corpses as I passed them, but they didn't bother me. At times, they were so thick I could barely see, but they never once landed upon my skin._

_It took me nearly half the walk, from one end of Saradush to the other, to finally notice the eyes of the dead open, if they weren't already, and turn to look at me as I passed. For awhile, I would meet their gazes with my own, expecting them to speak or something, but they just watched me._

_It should have scared me, but I felt safe there in that desecrated place. Among the dead and the flies. The ghosts and the smoke. Like I was passing through a small village I had been to before, one where I had stopped and refreshed myself, made a few awkward drunken memories, and moved on._

_When I finally reached an outer wall, half crumbled from the catapults, I stopped. When I turned around, tens of thousands of eyes stared back at me. I could feel their reverence. Their awe at what I was and that I walked among them._

_The sight was beautiful. All the muted grays of rigor mortis, the flaky brown of dried life's blood, the off white of unseeing eyes. The feeling of joy that I felt at beholding such radiance made me laugh and throw my arms out wide so I could dance in the befouled streets. The sound of my giddiness echoed loudly through the city, as it was the only sound. Not even the ravens and carrion birds dared utter their squawks while I danced._

_The dream never once seemed ugly to me. Not until I woke, anyway. Not until my memories of what a battlefield actually looked, smelled, and felt like tried to replace those surreal impressions. I didn't want the dream to be tainted by reality, though. I had been so happy, and felt like I was finally where I was meant to be, doing what I was meant to do, that I clung to that feeling for as long as I could._

_It's rare that I don't like waking up from a dream. I can't remember the last time I had one that I actually enjoyed. We're just gonna ignore the fact that this one was still pretty morbid and fucked up. And that I probably_ **_shouldn't_ ** _have enjoyed it._

_And by “we” I mean me. Not me and others. Like the voices in my head. Just lil ole me. Okay I'm gonna stop writing now._

* * *

 

Closing her journal, Rana rose from her desk, stretched, and scratched Rook behind the ears when he climbed the thin material of her long sleeved shirt to perch on her shoulder.

Looking out the window, she noticed it was mid-afternoon already. She'd slept soundly all through that morning and lunch. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since dinner last evening.

There was a gentle rap on her bedroom door, followed by Anomen's voice.

“My lady? I apologize for waking you, but Imoen is beginning to stir.”

Opening her door, she looked up at the knight, noting the deep shadows beneath his eyes.

“Thanks Anomen. Has Viconia woken up yet? It's time for a shift change, you're dead on your feet.”

“She has, my lady. I was just finishing up a late lunch when I noticed your sister seemed to be waking up.”

“Okay, good. Get some rest, you've earned it.”

“I shall, but first I thought I'd go into the town proper and talk to the new captain of the guard. Sir Keldorn returned a short while ago and informed me that a few of the men survived the attack, and I wanted to assist in setting up patrols. I may retire at the Sawtooth Inn, so that I may be close at hand to help.”

That sounded a little off to Rana. The man was clearly exhausted and was, in fact, swaying on his feet. She was sure Keldorn would have already helped out and that Anomen's presence wasn't actually necessary.

“Are you sure?”

“Aye. Viconia took over Sir Keldorn's watch outside the mines, and that abom… ahem, and your brother took over my patrol around the house. The bard has been assisting him in removing the bodies that litter the grounds. If anything goes amiss in town, I can return to inform you while Viconia oversees the problem.”

_Whatever._

“All right. Just make sure and get some sleep.”

“As you command, my lady,” he replied with a smile and turned to leave.

At least he would be out of her hair. She just hoped he wasn't looking for an excuse to stop at the bar and have a few drinks. She sincerely believed that Keldorn would dismiss him if he caught the younger man drinking again. And she wouldn't even intervene. This raid was a sobering reminder that she, and all of them, needed to stay sharp. Which meant less drinking for her, as well.

Entering the dining room, she saw her sister sitting up in her pallet, her red hair mussed and partially obscuring her face. The girl glanced up at her as she walked in, then immediately looked down at her lap.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Rana said gently, pouring herself and Imoen a cup of coffee each.

“Is it morning? What day is it?”

“It's mid-afternoon. You've been out since just before dawn.”

“Oh…” she replied, slightly confused. “Look, sis, I'm so, _so,_ sorry-”

“Stop. Im, there's nothing to be sorry for. You were right. I should have been there. I also should have been helping you control the taint. What happened wasn't your fault-”

“Yes, it was Rana. You can't keep shouldering the blame for everything. This was _my_ fuck up. I felt the taint trying to use me. I _heard_ Bhaal's voice. And _I_ made the choice to use that spell. No, you weren't there and you should have been. But we both know that if you had known we were gonna get ambushed, you would have been. This is my guilt to bear, Rana.”

“You still couldn't have known how much stronger that spell was going to be-”

_“STOP IT!”_

Rana flinched at the sudden scream of fury.

“You don't always get to take responsibility for everything! And you're not going to do it anymore when it comes to the choices _I_ make! And don't think for a _second_ that you do this out of love for me or anything like that. You try and take the blame for shit like this so you don't feel as guilty for the shit _you_ do! Like absorbing my mistakes is gonna somehow make me forget your own! Godsdamnit, Rana, how am I supposed to learn and grow and move on when you keep swooping down to pluck up my bad decisions before I can even understand what I did wrong and how I can avoid doing it again in the future?”

On the surface, Rana knew her sister was right. Just beneath that, her heart ached at the thought of Imoen suffering with something that she wasn't allowed to help with. And deeper down, she knew that part of the reason she did this was so that she wouldn't have to focus on her own mistakes. Dealing with her sister's pain was something Rana could do. _Wanted_ to do. Dealing with her own…

“Imoen, I want you to walk away from this war as intact and whole as you were the day you snuck out of Candlekeep to follow Gorion and me. If that means more blood on my soul, then so be it. A little more can't possibly matter at this point. At least let me help you control it. This is something I absolutely should have been doing since that Earthquake spell at the hot springs.”

“You mean where I woke up the earth elemental that killed Mazzy? Yeah, Rana, I hate to break it to ya, but that wasn't the beginning. Not by a long shot. I've been dealing with this a _lot_ longer than you think.”

“If that's true then why haven't you said anything before?” Rana demanded. “Why didn't I notice it any sooner?”

“Because _I've_ already been working on controlling it. That's why I never asked you for help. I've been managing it on my own. No, I don't have it totally down, but neither do you.”

“How long then?” She asked incredulously.

She could feel herself growing angrier. If Imoen was trying to bullshit her into letting this go, she was going to be in for a rude awakening. There was just no way this could have been going on longer than a few months. For whatever reason, the taint had been slow in developing within her sister, allowing it to go entirely undetected until Irenicus discovered it and revealed what she was in Spellhold. Imoen had told her about the Bhaal dreams, that they had started after arriving in Saradush.

“Imoen, how long?” She asked again when the girl didn't answer.

“Since Khalid.”

A sickening feeling began spreading in her stomach, writhing and burning like a fiery serpent, and she knew that what she was about to hear would haunt her.

“What do you mean _'since Khalid’_?”

“I… I always tried to fight back when Irenicus came for me. Even though it was pointless, ya know? He'd bind my magic, but not my hands. No, he wanted me to still be able to use those. At first, he'd just make me watch. He'd make a cut and explain what I was looking at. I tried not to see, but he would keep doing it. Over and over, cutting again and again, until I found myself unable to look away.”

“Imoen…” Rana whispered, her voice shaking. “What does this have to do with Khalid?”

“Irenicus told me what I was. There in that dark room. With the jars. I'd known I was a bhaalspawn before we ever escaped to the surface. I'm sorry I never told you that. He… woke it up? The taint? And it would take over every time he pressed the scalpel into my hands. At first, I cried and pleaded with him not to make me do it. He never listened, though. Once I'd started making the cuts… they were so pretty. The symmetry. I didn't notice how many I'd made, or how deep, and how much I'd peeled away to reveal what was underneath, until there was hardly anything left. Irenicus said I played too rough and so we had to throw Khalid out. He was ruined. We couldn't fix him back up so I could keep cutting.”

_Oh, gods…_

“He… Irenicus made you kill Khalid?”

A wave of nausea had her pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. The memory of what was left of a once strong, noble man, lying discarded and forgotten on a table, his body so mutilated it had taken them all a moment to piece together what they were looking at… that memory was almost serene compared to the truth behind what had actually happened to him.

“No. He wasn't supposed to die. Irenicus just wanted me to practice making the cuts on him. I got carried away. Cut, cut, peel. Cut, cut, peel. The taint made me feel so calm, so focused, that after awhile, I forgot who it was I was working on. At least Irenicus never actually followed through on his idea to make me work on _you._ I don't think I could have made the cuts as pretty as he did with the ones on your back.”

Rana staggered away from her sister, not aware of the tears on her cheeks or the way Rook was hissing at Imoen from his perch on her shoulders. The girl didn't seem to take any notice, her eyes stared unseeing, unblinking, at the far wall as she continued speaking.

“I'm sorry, Rana. I didn't want to tell you about Khalid cause I knew how upset you'd be with me. And Jaheira was so sad. I still hear her crying at night sometimes. She must not realize that I keep my bedroom window open and she likes to sit at the tree beneath it and talk to Khalid like he's still here. You really should be nicer to her. She's still so sad.”

_“Fucking Hells, Imoen…”_

The girl finally blinked and looked at her.

“Rana… I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I keep getting lost inside my head, like just now, and I'm scared I'm never gonna find my way back out. Or, when I do, I'll have done something horrible. Like with… with… Khalid. Oh gods, Rana, I'm so scared!”

She wanted to go to her sister and comfort her, but she stood frozen in place. Something scratched at the back of her mind, another memory trying to surface. It was somehow tied to what Imoen had confessed, and the flashbacks Sarevok had accidentally triggered with torturing the drow.

It scratched harder, clawing its way up, and the only thing Rana knew for certain was that it would shove her over the brink into madness if she saw it.

Another hard scratch, this time across her cheek, and the shocking sting of it forced the memory back down. Turning her head, she looked at Rook, who was puffed up to nearly twice his size, his thick gray fur bristling and his green eyes wide and dilated as he took another swipe at her. She pulled him down from her shoulder and curled him into her chest, but it took him a moment to relax enough to start purring.

“Sissy, you're bleeding,” Imoen whispered, pointing at the three bright red lines across Rana's cheekbone.

“I'm fine,” she replied numbly, absently swiping at the marks with her sleeve.

“Are you mad at me?”

“What? How could I be mad?”

“I butchered Khalid, Rana.”

The anguish in her sister's voice, coupled with the burning claw marks, finally prodded her into action. Sitting down beside her, she set Rook in her lap, freeing up her arms so she could wrap them around her.

“It’s not your fault, love. Irenicus and Bhaal pull our strings, so there's only so much we can blame ourselves for. I want to say that the right thing to do is harness that pain and anger and use it in some kind of good way, but I think we both know those words would be hollow coming from me at this point. I knew he'd done things to you, but I thought… I _hoped,_ it wasn't anything so bad as what he did to me.

“Is this where you tell me what all happened? Some more of those secrets that you promised you wouldn't keep from me anymore?”

“Imoen…”

“I just told you that I'm responsible for killing Khalid, Jaheira's _lifemate._ Rana, please, it can't hurt any worse than that.”

“Why would you want the added pain?”

“Because I shared mine with you, and now it's your turn to share yours with me. So we can heal together.”

“Some wounds don't heal.”

“All wounds heal eventually. Some with time. And some only when you rip them back open so you can cut away the rot. Rana, please, just tell me.”

Rana sat there several long moments, her heart pounding in time with Rook's purrs. The kitten sprawled on the legs of both women, looking up at them with quiet, loving acceptance, and perhaps encouragement. Or perhaps Rana really had gone insane.

Gently, she scratched the tiny creature beneath his chin, marveling at the fact that he was only here because Sarevok had gone out, caught him, and brought him to her. She wanted to reach out to him, needed to feel that arrogance and raw strength, to remind herself she wasn't alone, that she had an _aegisess_ yet again. She didn't though. For obvious reasons.

And this was something she needed to do alone, with her sister.

“Rana?”

“He… raped me.”

She felt Imoen stiffen in her arms, felt her stop breathing for a few seconds as those three words hit her. Then, Rana felt her slide her arms around her tightly.

She found herself praying that Imoen wouldn't reply; terrified that she would say “Me, too”. The prayer grew in her mind, that she wouldn't hear those words, and she became so focused on it that she didn't notice the steady stream of tears falling down her face, or her shoulder slowly dampening with Imoen's tears.

Both women remained silent. Sitting there on the floor, holding one another, with Rook’s purrs, and the occasional sob, breaking the quiet. Neither knew how long they were there, and neither felt the need to explain when Haer’Dalis entered the room, saw them, and went to sit behind them, enfolding both in his arms.

* * *

 

_Sarevok_

 

 _Rana struggled against the leather straps wrapped around her wrists and her ankles. They were too thick, too tight, but she couldn't_ not _struggle._

_That momentary relief she'd felt when Irenicus released her from her cage and brought her to the table, binding her ankles together rather than around her thighs to hold them open, had been snuffed out when she saw him turn to his accoutrements._

_It was no longer a matter of which was worse, rape or torture. She was always relieved it wasn't one, then immediately sick with fear when it was the other._

_“That's quite enough of that,” Irenicus said, swirling a vial of liquid as he approached her head. “I can't have you moving while I work. Trust me, godchild, this will be much worse if I slip.”_

_Prying her mouth open, he dumped the liquid down her throat, then turned back to his workstation. She wanted to spit the vile stuff out, but the moment it touched her tongue, and her esophagus, her face began to rapidly go numb._

_Like a wave of ice, the effect spread down her body, tingling along her nerves, until it reached her toes. Then it began spreading back up, this time heating her blood, feeling almost nice, like being submerged in a warm bath on a cold day. It was only when she tried to move again, did she understand what the serum had done._

_A small, anguished sound escaped her throat, the only thing she could produce, and Irenicus glanced back at her._

_“Ah, good. I gave you enough to keep you still throughout the procedure, but should it begin to wear off before I'm done, I would recommend trying not to move. Unfortunately, while the elixir is a paralytic, it does not inhibit pain or discomfort. I would apologize for that, but this exercise serves a dual purpose. One, to further my studies in what makes you tick, how quickly your divine blood reacts to stimuli and kicks in to protect you, your rate of healing, and so on. And two, I'm fresh out of nararoot.”_

Sarevok tried to wake, to pull himself from the dream, or sever the connection of their soul somehow.

She was dreaming those flashbacks he'd inadvertently given her when he was torturing the drow. He'd seen just enough to recognize this was the same. He knew she had been tortured, and cut open; that the rape was only a part of what had happened in that dark place. If her previous dreams had taught him anything though, it was that _knowing_ and _seeing_ were two very different things. And the mention of nararoot was an alarming enough hint of what was about to transpire in this one.

He wanted to call out to her. But he couldn't. He wanted to try and insert himself in the dream somehow and cut Irenicus down. But he couldn't do that either. The helplessness of not being able to do anything other than watch was infuriating.

He knew what it felt like to be completely at the mercy of another, to be unable to fight back. It was an all too familiar feeling when he was an urchin, and when he was being raised by Rieltar. Not being able to escape the abuse.

To feel it through Rana, though, was somehow worse than those times. He'd never been paralyzed, or bound this way. At least, not while he was alive.

_White hot agony cut across her abdomen, and Rana choked as she struggled to scream, needing some way to vent that kind of pain. From one hip bone to the other, a thin line of fire blazed across her skin._

_Her gorge rose as she realized she couldn't even shut her eyes, to block out the sight of Irenicus bent over her, peeling away something just out of sight. Her mind wouldn't allow her to acknowledge that it was her flesh._

_She prayed for the sweet relief of unconsciousness. And perhaps some deity took pity on her and granted her wish, because she began to notice irregularities in how the mage was positioned, the bloodied tools on a side table, and the sudden appearance of a bottle of troll's blood. She seemed to drift between moments, which gave the illusion of time speeding up, but it was too disorienting for Rana to appreciate._

_At some point, she must have vomited, because the acrid smell of it suddenly permeated her senses, and her head was turned to the side._

_“Can't have you choking, now. Not when we're almost finished.”_

_The room swirled, and she began to pray for death instead, hoping this prayer would be answered as well. It wasn't._

_“Here we are. It's not every day you get to see what lies beneath. Take a look.”_

_His hand, sticky with blood, turned her face to look at what he held in his other hand. It wasn't recognizable as anything she'd seen before. She saw only a glistening dark red something before he deposited it into a nearby bowl._

_“There. Nothing to worry about now. Perhaps, in a couple of weeks, I'll have some more nararoot, and this won't be necessary to perform again. If not, I'm afraid I'm going to have to go in and remove your womb again. Fear not though, godchild, troll's blood will restore what I took. Let us hope that doesn't run out, either.”_

_Hot tears coursed down the sides of her face and didn't stop until well after he finished stitching her up. He'd given her so much healing draught over the course of her imprisonment that she'd developed a tolerance to it, so that the concoction didn't restore as it should. It would take her many months for it to work right on her again._

_Irenicus never got any more nararoot, an herb commonly used as contraceptive. Four more times he performed that same vivisection. Two of those times he used no paralytic. He began to run low on troll's blood, and with each smaller dose, that dark red mass that he pulled from her belly was smaller, and more misshapen._

_Eventually, her mind began to shield her from what it was she was seeing, blurring the shape and Irenicus's running monologue until all that remained was the memory of the pain, and the anguish of a loss she couldn't fully comprehend._

_The dream, however, laid bare the horrible truth about what happened on that operating table. About how these particular cuts weren't being done to obtain samples, or create aesthetically pleasing scars._

_They were being done to prevent, or even destroy, any potential pregnancies._

_“Life… is strength,” Irenicus's voice echoed one last time through the dream._

 

Sarevok sat up in bed, the sheets sticking to his skin, his chest heaving.

He was dimly aware that it was early morning, and that just before waking, he could feel Rana plummeting into madness, with the Slayer rising to meet her.

Barely taking the time to dress, he threw open his bedroom door and ran to hers.

Locked.

Hysterical sobs could be heard from within, suddenly drowned out by the sound of breaking glass. Sarevok threw his shoulder into the door, almost roaring with frustration when it didn't burst open. Taking a step back, he threw his weight against it again, and while the heavy wood creaked and split in several places, it held fast.

_“Rana, open the door!”_

The sound of glass tinkling together, then being dragged across the floor made his blood run cold.

“I have a key!”

Turning, he saw Chauntia racing up the stairs, pulling at a bundle of keys, her hands shaking wildly as she fumbled for the right one.

Rook yowled angrily from the other side of the door, and it goaded him into throwing his soul against hers, trying to somehow find out what was happening inside.

_“HURRY!”_

The anguish, the pain, the fury, all of it was being enhanced by the taint and fanned by the Slayer as it rose up to overthrow the vessel it was trapped inside, feeding off the torrent of negative emotions, gaining strength as it pushed to take control while she was weakened.

She gave no resistance to his intrusion upon her mind. And what he saw made him realize just how close he was to losing her. She didn't even realize he was there, couldn't comprehend anything beyond battling the Slayer, while also fending off the horror of the dream. Throwing his will between her and the creature, he tried to force it back. Only when it began to tear into his thoughts, shredding his half of their soul, did Rana finally take notice and sever the link between them, pushing him out.

The click of the door unlocking jarred him back to himself, but he didn't have the presence of mind to turn the handle before pushing to open it. The Chultan girl did, however, and they both stumbled into the room, and froze at what was inside.

Because of the chaos inside her head, he'd expected to find Rana writhing on the floor, or even destroying the room. She was on her knees in the middle of the room, one hand clutching a jagged shard of bloodied glass, and her other hanging limply in her lap, one long gash across a wrist, pumping out lifeblood.

Her eyes smoldered with red-gold fire, her teeth were bared in a snarl, and her canines had lengthened. She was looking at them, but it was obvious she wasn't seeing them, her glassy gaze was focused inward, seeing things only she could see.

Chauntia was the first to move, edging further into the room, reaching out toward the other woman. Rana's eyes suddenly focused, and her grip on the glass tightened until more blood trickled over it's surface. Sluggishly, she raised the glass to her other wrist and held it there, making the Chultan pause. When she tried to take another step, Rana hissed, and the glass began biting into her skin.

“Stop,” he growled at the girl. “Take the cat and get out.”

Rook perched on the dresser, back arched, fur bristled, eyes locked on Rana, and hadn't evinced any reaction to their entry.

“But-”

_“If you take another step, she'll sever the other vein. Now GET. OUT.”_

Chauntia eased back, her wide eyes locked on Rana, and slowly shuffled toward the dresser. Snatching up the kitten, she backed away toward the door.

“Lock it behind you. Fetch the drow, but if any of the others have been roused, keep them out. If she changes, I can keep her distracted long enough for the house to be cleared, so listen for my yell.”

“Ch-changes, my lord?”

He'd seen things far worse than the Slayer while he was in Hell. Even so, watching someone you know, someone you… care for… become a monster stays with you. And, while the girl had strength, more than he'd previously assumed, seeing how quickly she rallied herself to go to Rana's aid, he did not doubt that seeing the transformation would send the girl and her father running as far and as fast as they could away from here.

If she even survived long enough for the Slayer to win control, that is. If she didn't bleed out into a pile of ash before that.

“Go, girl. She won't want you seeing her like this. Or what lurks beneath.”

“She broke the mirror over her dresser,” Chauntia said from the door. “She did the same to the one in her bathroom a few days ago. I thought it was an accident. I know what it was she saw now. She cares for you… please, my lord, help her.”

The girl left before he could respond, locking the door behind her. He didn't know what to say anyway, as he already knew why the mirrors affected Rana so badly. Why she hadn't broken this one before, he didn't know. Maybe she had been trying to move past it.

_I know what it was she saw now._

It wasn't just her face she despised, he realized. It was the physical manifestations of the taint, the constant reminder of what waited just behind her eyes, and around a few shadowed corners of her mind. The reminder that she didn't have dominion over the body she was born into.

Too many thoughts warred and clashed inside his mind. None that he could follow right now, though he felt like he was on the verge of sliding a few more puzzle pieces into place. He knew he needed to understand, to be able to empathise, if he was going to get them both out of this alive.

“Rana…”

Slowly he stepped toward her. She watched him, completely unaware of the blood beginning to pool on her knees and the wood beneath them from her lacerated hand and wrist. She let him closer than she had Chauntia, before flexing the glass closer to the vein once more.

She looked almost alien. Her features were starker, more pronounced. Those high cheekbones were sharper. Her eyes were more vivid, the color shifting like embers in a hearthfire. The elongated canines made her appear savage, more demon than elf.

“My _dhaer-”_

_“Stay back!”_

Her voice was sepulchral and yet guttural. As if the force needed to pass the words up through her throat required far more work than normal. The color in her eyes wavered, though, the amber gleaming through the flames for just a second.

“Put down the glass, Rana.”

Another step closer, followed by a hiss and a deeper cut. Two more steps and he would be within range.

 _I won't let it have me,_ her voice rang out in his mind. _I won't let it have_ you. _So stay back, damn you!_

“I'm not going anywhere. Tell me what to do and I'll help you fight this.”

_I ALREADY TOLD YOU! LEAVE!_

“Leave so you can finish killing yourself to keep the Slayer from slaughtering everyone? You think I give a damn about them?!”

_You give a damn about yourself. More than anything else. And right now, Sarevok, you'll be the first to die if it takes over. And it will. It got too close before I could start pushing back._

_“Then let me help you.”_

A shudder ran through her body, and for a moment, he thought it might be too late. Her muscles tensed, her hand bleeding profusely as it clenched the shard, and he could see the crimson begin to smoke, just a little.

_Rana…_

He took another step, using her distraction to close more distance between them.

_Please, Sarevok… I don't want to wake up among the corpses of the only people I had left in this world. I can't hold it back much longer. It's too strong. You have to let me go._

“I lost you once, when Gorion tore us apart. I lost you twice, right after I remembered you, when I died. _I will not lose you again!”_

 _Please…_ she sobbed, her body shaking from the effort of fighting the change.

When she shut her eyes, just for a moment, to let the tears spill over so that she could see clearly, he made his move.

Lunging forward, he knocked her onto her back and grabbed her wrist, simultaneously applying pressure to the cut and to wrest the glass away. He squeezed to make her open her hand. The shard didn't fall. She had gripped it so tightly that it was imbedded in her hand, her blood coagulating around it to seal it there.

Claws raked his side as she attempted to shove him off her. The pain surprised him, her unholy strength surprised him even more, but he ignored his injury and used his far greater size and weight to pin her down, knowing he would suffer far worse if she completed the transformation.

Snatching the glass with his other hand, he threw it across the room, snarling at another forceful blow from her lengthened nails, this time across his forearm. He wrapped his hands around both her wrists, securing them on either side of her head, and just barely trapping her legs in time with his own before her knee could connect with his groin.

He looked down at her, breathing heavily, the blood from his wounds dripping down to mingle with her own, and prepared for the next battle.

Reaching out with his half, he touched against their shared soul and began pouring his strength into hers, reinforcing her resistance against the Slayer's uprising.

It didn't go down without a fight. Several minutes passed like this, punctuated with sudden bursts of fury and enhanced strength that nearly dislodged him from restraining her. Twice, her teeth nearly sank into his throat.

He couldn't afford to distract himself with the details of what he saw and felt while their halves were joined. It was impossible not to notice, though, the blur of emotions, memories, and thoughts. Not to feel Rana's horror as the memory of being tied down by Irenicus warred with the reality of being held down by Sarevok.

 _Then don't showcase the similarities,_ she had warned him during the raid, when she had compared him to the mage. Sarevok hadn't listened to her, choosing to ignore the truth of those words, refusing to even consider if there _was_ any truth to them.

Now, after seeing everything, the full extent of what had been done to her, and _why,_ he had to acknowledge why she would throw that kind of statement at him.

Irenicus had wanted her soul. To possess her divine strength. To exact revenge on the ones who had dared punish him for the crimes he'd committed in his pursuit of power. He'd violated Rana's body in the meantime, using her as a placeholder for the woman who had wronged him. Doing what he pleased until the time came to steal her power. He had been more than willing to extinguish an entire city, and much more than that, to obtain what he desired.

If anything, she had understated the similarities.

_How does she stand to let me touch her?_

That thought stung. Not only because of the amount of trust it required of Rana to even so much as let him anywhere near her, but because she already knew of his ulterior motives behind wanting her. She knew and she still allowed it. Still wanted him despite the similarities.

Before now, the only problems he'd prepared for in pursuing any kind of relationship with her were the arguments over ascension. Trying to convince her of it while manipulating her emotions and feelings regarding him.

He realized now that he may not even live through seducing her. If he did anything to trigger more flashbacks, or more repressed memories, she could panic and lash out, even invite the Slayer as she'd done at the hot springs. If he hurt her while he took her body, a very real possibility considering his size and strength, she may never want him close to her again. If she didn't just kill him outright, intentionally or otherwise.

Eventually, the tremors subsided, the attempts to overpower him stopped, and her features smoothed back to normal.

“Are you all right?” He asked, looking down at her, his arms shaking from exhaustion.

“Please get off me,” she whispered, turning her face to the side and closing her eyes.

When he tried to unwrap his hands from around her wrists, the dried blood made it difficult, and the gash began bleeding anew. Moving off of her, he tore a strip of cloth from his shirt and reached for her hand to bandage it.

She jerked away before he could touch her, cradling her bleeding wrist to her chest, and weakly sat up, just as exhausted, if not more so, than he was.

“What's wrong?”

Rana looked at him and started to laugh.

 _“What's wrong?_ Are you serious?”

“Look, Rana, I-”

“Yesterday, I learned that Irenicus forced Imoen to dissect Khalid,” Rana spoke over him, cutting him off. “And the taint caused her to damage him beyond repair. You tortured a drow without so much as a twinge of regret or a second thought. Both these things caused me to remember _my own_ dissection and torture, and forced me to again accept the fact that I'm barren because of it. I knew why I was, but I was blissfully unaware of the _details_ of why _._ No longer. And then, before I can even fully wake up from that dream, the Slayer tries to ambush me. I had to make a decision, to die and save all of you, or be defeated by the Slayer and hope a few of you were still alive when I came back. Assuming I could even wrest control away from it, that is, since that's not a guarantee. So _NO!_ I am _NOT_ _alright! And EVERYTHING is wrong!”_

She staggered to her feet, having to catch herself on the dresser nearby to keep from falling.

“Viconia!”

The door clicked as it was unlocked, then opened, and the cleric entered the room, with Chauntia hovering in the doorway.

Wordlessly, the drow approached the smaller elven woman and examined her wounds.

“I can heal your wrist, but your hand will take some time to mend completely. You severely damaged the nerve endings. You'll be without feeling in it for awhile, and it will most likely scar.”

“What’s a few more?” She laughed bitterly.

Viconia studied her for a long moment, then looked at Sarevok, her face unreadable.

“I'm also going to recommend you go back to sleep. I know that may be difficult, so I can knock you out if you'd like me to.”

“Please.”

Nodding, the drow cast her spells, healing the cuts in Rana's hand and wrist. When she was done, she helped her to bed, and murmured a Command incantation, which instantly put her to sleep.

“Your turn, _jaluk.”_

He'd almost forgotten about his own injuries. Glancing down, he saw they were worse than he'd thought, and had been steadily bleeding this whole time. No doubt contributing to his weariness, along with the energy expended holding an empowered Rana down while simultaneously battling the Slayer within their soul.

“I would applaud your efforts at keeping the Slayer at bay, but it seems you are incapable of doing anything good without immediately undermining yourself. I hope you enjoyed your time with her just before the drow raid, Sarevok, as that may very well be the last time you get to have her.”

He waited until his wounds were healed before he responded.

“How much did you hear?”

“All of it. I heard Rana's sobs and got here just as the servant locked you inside with her. I waited to see if you could handle the situation, and if you couldn't, I was prepared to either intervene and try and heal her, or throw up a Protection from Evil barrier to keep her contained. Lucky for you, you're not quite as incompetent as you often appear to be, since I had pretty much decided on locking you in here with the Slayer.”

“Watch your tongue, Viconia. If you had any idea what triggered this-”

“Oh, but I do, foolish male. Who do you think examined her to ensure Irenicus hadn't gotten her with child? Her memories of what he'd done to her were so blended and distorted that she couldn't quite remember how badly he ruined her. Until you and Imoen blew the doors wide open. Such a waste. She could have birthed powerful daughters in the future if not for that madman.”

“You don't wish for her to ascend? To become a goddess? How many years of faithful service have you provided her? Do you not wish to be rewarded?”

“Gods, you really are just as stupid as the rest of your misbegotten gender. I have already pledged myself to Shar, what need do I have of another goddess? And, as much as it may irritate me to admit this aloud to you, I owe that girl much and more. If she does not wish to ascend, then that is her choice. I will continue to serve her regardless of what paths she chooses to walk.”

“How did she come to inspire such devotion in a drow? I have learned enough of the ranger to understand his reasoning, but your motivations remain a mystery.”

Viconia looked past him to Rana, her haughty mask slipping for just a second, revealing a tired, somewhat sad, woman beneath.

“Drow houses rise and fall by the leadership of their Matron Mothers. If they are strong and clever, their families will prosper. If not, they will die, paving the way for the more worthy. Weaknesses like mercy, and… love, will get you killed. I know this firsthand. Being on the surface is just as dangerous for a female who has shown weakness as it is being in the Underdark. At least it was. Until I found a Matron who was not only strong and clever, but also devoted and open minded enough to save a drow, not once but twice.”

Viconia turned and walked to the door, then stopped and looked back at him once more.

“You are, perhaps, the only male here that is worthy of her. The only one who understands the darkness inside of her, and accepts it. But if you continue to put your own desires ahead of hers, then I will have to admit I was wrong. I _do not_ like having to admit that. And I will be wroth. It's time to decide, son of Bhaal, what matters more to you: Rana... or the scraps of power tossed to you by a goddess. You cannot have both. To possess one, you must relinquish the other. Rana would not be Rana if she wanted godhood. The things that keep her grounded here with the rest of us will have to die for that to happen. Everything that makes her _her_ will have to change. And Sarevok, a female version of you is far less endearing than our current Rana.”

He stood in that bedroom long after the drow left and Chauntia had already come and gone to clean up the glass and blood. His gaze often returned to Rana, watching the rise and fall of her chest, searching for any signs of another nightmare. He didn't dare intrude inside her head again, nor did he seek out his own bed to sleep, not willing to risk enduring another one of her dreams.

Rook lightly patted at his shins with a paw, _mewing_ softly, but insistently, until he finally reached down to scoop the tiny creature up in one hand. The kitten looked at him, purring softly, then at Rana, before curling against his chest and falling asleep.

It was only when he heard the voices of the others, returned from town or a watch, that he moved to the bed and laid Rook down on the pillow beside Rana's head.

Looking down at her, he thought of all he'd seen.

The dreams.

The revelations.

The secrets.

He thought of their conversations. And the one he'd had with Viconia.

He thought of their past. Of protecting her from her mother and the High Priest Jorval. Of the two of them standing in defiance against any who would come between them.

He thought of the way she'd looked up at him a few nights ago, in this very bed, and allowed him to touch her, taste her, and if they hadn't been interrupted, take her.

He thought of the way she looked at him when he reached for her, the way she recoiled.

He thought of the power he could wield with her as his goddess, her right hand, and found the appeal had begun to wane.

Because in order for that to happen, she would have to ascend. She would be gone.

 _“Everything that makes her_ her _will have to change.”_

Sarevok turned to leave, but something atop the mantle of her fireplace caught his eye. When he approached and saw what it was, he couldn't even muster the energy to act surprised. No longer could he ignore Fate's little nudges.

Picking up the delicate circle of silver, he examined the ring he'd given her in Candlekeep.

He had a lot to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may seem like I'm including all this dark stuff for shock value, but I promise that's never been my intention. I enjoy developing Rana's character, and utilizing all the hints dropped throughout the games of much more mature content. Irenicus's treatment of the PC in the second game leaves a lot to the imagination, so I imagined and ran with it. The result is heavier than I had originally invisioned, but it's got a purpose.


	23. Whiskey and Wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was pretty bittersweet to write. It's one I've long been looking forward to, but in a lot of ways, it marks the Beginning of the End of this story. Don't worry, there's still plenty to go, but I'm finally able to start tying up loose ends and preparing for the big moments to come.
> 
> In this chapter, Sarevok gains some much needed wisdom points. Let's say +2. There's some revelations that I've been itching to reveal that weren't supposed to happen until later, but they fit here. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy. Dont forget to read the notes at the end of the chapter. I've got some great news.

**Chapter 23: Whiskey and Wisdom**

 

_Sarevok_

 

“Oho! Hey, bro, you wanna finally tell me what Hell was like? Seeing as how you're not likely to remember this conversation?”

The sound of Imoen's voice grated against Sarevok's nerves just as badly as it would have if she had screeched those words at him. Blearily, he looked up from his seat on the couch in one of the sitting rooms and pinned the menace with a glare.

“Yeah, sorry, I'm sure you think you're super scary right now, but the bloodshot eyes just aren't doing it. I could go away and come back if you wanna try again? I could act scared maybe?”

“Can you just go away and _not_ come back?”

“I coooooould,” she replied in a singsong voice, further scratching along his nerves. “But I'm not. This is too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“Opportunity for _what_ , pest?”

Plopping down in an armchair across from him, and loudly kicking her feet up on the coffee table between them, she grinned cheekily at him.

“How much have you had? Chauntia said you've been in here awhile, and when you showed no signs of letting up, she panicked and went out and bought more whiskey. Said she was afraid what would happen if we ran out and you weren't done drinking.”

“I've had enough that it would be unwise to be in here with me. Especially if you're in the mood for ceaseless chatter, because _I_ am not.”

“Aw, well that's too bad. So, how about you do the talking and tell me what dying was like. I know, I know, I've died before, too, but we both know an 'oops!’ death is very different from a 'time to meet daddy’ kind of death. You did meet him didn't you? While you were shacked up in the Abyss? I bet that was wild. What was he like? Did he think he was scary, too? Like father like son-”

_“Enough! Gods, girl._ Did you slip your leash? Where's the bard? Is he aware you're running around unsupervised?”

_“Hah!_ Look at you being funny. But, seriously, bro… can I call you bro?”

“No.”

“Oh, right. That would make it weird for you, seeing as how you can't seem to take your eyes off our sister. If that's your kink, I don't wanna remind you that we are also related.”

“Trust me, little pest, I lament every reminder that you and I share any kind of relation. And I'll throw myself on my sword if I someday begin to desire you.”

“Good to know. Does that mean I was right in my assessment of you wanting Rana?”

Sarevok's alcohol muddled mind was having difficulty keeping up with the girl’s constant subject changes. Part of him wondered why he hadn't seen Bhaal in the Abyss. While another part cowered in horror at the thought of sexualizing Imoen. And yet another part was trying to warn him that the girl was far more clever than she appeared, and this sudden interest in _his_ interest in Rana was dangerous ground.

“I mean,” she continued, before he could formulate an answer. “It wouldn't be too big a deal, I suppose. You can't be any more pathetic than Anomen, am I right? And, just between you and me, she _does_ need to get laid. Don't tell her I said that. But, anyway, you can tell me. I'm the best at keeping secrets.”

Sarevok had to stifle a whimper at her beaming smile, completely unprepared for this.

“I thought you wanted to know about Hell?”

“Oh, dang, you got it bad then, huh? If you'd rather talk about your stay in the fires than admit how you feel about Rana.”

“Do I look like the kind of man who has a lot of feelings?!”

“Nope. But you sure can't seem to gimme a straight answer. You forget, I grew up with the Queen of Deflections. Um… that's Rana, in case you're too drunk to realize who I'm talking about.”

_I'm back in Hell, aren't I?_

“Come on! It's just lil ole me! You like her don't you? At least admit that you think she's pretty. Everyone does, so it doesn't even really count.”

He briefly considered telling her the truth, if only to shut her up. And to watch her face when she learned just what he thought of their dear sister.

_How would she react if I told her that I've spent the last day and a half thinking of nothing else? Thinking about just this question. There is no simple answer. Just as there is nothing simple about the woman._

Drumming her nails on the worn leather of her armrest, she tilted her head to the side, studying him.

“Are you having an attack of conscience right now? Is that what this is about?” She asked, gesturing to the empty bottles on the side table next to him, and the half-empty one in his hands. “Trying to understand why you saved Rana from killing herself? I bet that's a hard thing to wrap your head around. Doing something selfless. Or maybe it wasn't selfless? Maybe you hoped she'd express her gratitude by-”

“What do you hope to accomplish here, girl? A quick death? Because that's what's going to happen if you don't _leave me alone.”_

“Ooooh, did I hit a nerve?”

“You've clobbered _several_ ,” he replied through clenched teeth, rubbing his head in hopes of alleviating his growing headache, and downing the rest of his bottle.

“It's a talent of mine.”

Either the girl possessed unparalleled skills in the bedroom, or Haer'Dalis was utterly insane. There was no other explanation for encouraging her attentions. For actually wanting to be on the receiving end of her.

“If you don't leave me be, I'll show you one of _my_ talents. Namely how to kill you with only one hand.”

“Yeah, yeah, you're stupid strong. Tell me something I don't know. Like about Hell! Or how you really feel about Rana! Ooh, or maaaaaybe you could tell me how long the two of you have been communicating telepathically! Yeah, I bet _that_ explanation is a doozy. Or how about telling me why you want her to ascend so badly? Hmm, actually, scratch that, I'm sure I could guess that one. You're pretty one dimensional when it comes to power. Alright, I guess I'll settle for hearing about what the two of you were up to just before the drow raid. No, no, wait! I think I want the explanation of 'I lost you once, when Gorion tore us apart. And twice when I died!’ or whatever it was you said to her. That sounds _fascinating._ I especially liked the _'I will not lose you again!’_ part.”

Sarevok went still. When he met the girl's eyes, he felt that same chill he'd felt a while back at the inn. After Rana turned the tables on him with their little mind games. And again when the brat had barged in on them in the dining room, when Rana was trying to convince him, and herself, that she didn't want anything between them. There was that same eerie _something._ The taint, most likely. Seeing it manifest in the mageling had a sobering effect.

“I see I owe you an apology, Imoen. Here I thought you were just Rana's annoying sidekick, only capable of tripping over flat surfaces and accidentally wielding devastating magic, much like a Wild Mage, but without any of the finesse involved.”

“Better men than you have underestimated me before, Sarevok.”

“Of _that_ I am certain. Tell me, little one, is our sweet sister aware of how much you know? And, pray tell, _how_ did you come by this information?”

“No, she doesn't know. Not yet, anyway. I'm sure you'll tell her, though, seeing as how y'all are so close now. Or, if you want, I can do it. I haven't said anything yet cause she's been closed off since that almost-Slayer incident. Don't wanna trigger another episode.”

“Wise. Now, answer my other question.”

“How do I know all this? Easy. I've been paying attention.”

“And by _that_ you mean utilizing that cloak you bought.”

At the time, he hadn't paid much attention to the ugly cloak she'd purchased in town. Her claims of it bestowing immunity to detection fell on deaf ears. At best, he assumed she'd use it for pranks, if it even worked at all.

Imoen gave him a smug look, dug around in a pocket, and withdrew a gleaming, yet dented and scratched, gold ring.

“I filched this off Keldorn a couple days ago. He still thinks it fell off somewhere. I'll give it back to him soon, and say I found it lying around or something. I figured if _he,_ an _Inquisitor,_ didn't notice me stealing his wedding band, then _surely_ my cloak is genuine. You guys must have assumed I slept through Rana trying to kill herself. Nope, I was there, right outside the door, until you unlocked it, then I slipped in. And out again while Chauntia was leaving after cleaning up. So I saw, and heard, everything between you and Rana, and you and Viconia.”

“I see.”

He briefly considered snapping her neck, but dismissed it almost as soon as the image formed in his mind. What little remained of Rana's sanity would die with her, especially so soon after that nightmare.

Rana's biggest argument against being with him was how her sister would react if she found out. Now the girl knew. And he couldn't even lose her because he hadn't _made her his, yet._

“So, ya gonna start talking? Or should I take this convo to Rana? While informing Jaheira, Valygar, Keldorn, yada yada along the way? Oho, I bet Anomen will be _really_ upset to hear that he spent years pining after a woman who gave herself to her foster father's butcher a few months after resurrecting him. Poor guy never stood a chance, that's gonna be _maddening.”_

_I think you would be surprised at how little an effect this information would have on some of them._

“You think I fear the priest’s rage? Come, girl, you've just revealed how clever you can be, don't make me regret elevating you from 'simpleton’ to 'semi-competent’. And Rana hasn't _given_ herself to me.”

“Yet. Right? I can practically hear that word tagged on at the end of that sentence. I mean, I can pretty much guess that, from what I heard during you and Viconia's conversation, you've been trying to seduce Rana and yet you want her to ascend. So, you want to have your cake and eat it, too. You get to sleep with a beautiful woman, and not just _any_ beautiful woman, _the_ beautiful woman who murdered you. That's gotta be quite the ego trip right there, turning the tables like that. And to top it off, if you can convince her to become a goddess, she can bestow you with power you lost out on when you died. Am I right so far?”

Sarevok said nothing. There was nothing _to_ say. How in the Nine Hells did he manage to completely underestimate _both_ of these women? First, it was Rana, when he was trying to ascend. Now, it was this one.

“I'm gonna assume that's a ‘yes’ ‘cause boy, you sure do look mad. Now, here's where I get stuck. You were talking to her like she was answering, but she wasn't, at least some of the time. I'm gonna make another educated guess and say your soul thingy has something to do with the telepathy. I think I'm on the right track there, since your eyes are starting to glow. Moving on. I _have_ to know what you meant about not wanting to lose her. I mean, I can understand wanting to sleep with her, but _maaaaaan_ that sounds pretty deep for a guy who was just yelling about having no feelings.”

“I'm going to give you a chance to drop this, little one,” he replied softly. “Talk to Rana, if you think that's a good idea, but my control frays with each chirp out of you, and I will not be held responsible for your death. So walk away. Gorion would have wanted more for you than a broken neck caused by the very same man who cut him nearly in half.”

“Don't you dare talk about what Gorion would have wanted,” Imoen hissed, leaning forward in her seat, her nails clutching the armrests. “The wrong man got a second chance at life. If Gorion could have come back instead, don't think for a _second_ Rana would have even entertained the notion of resurrecting you. I don't know what creepy obsessive notions you have about her, or why you have them, it doesn't even matter. She and I are going to have a _long_ talk, and I'm going to make sure she shakes off whatever hold you have on her. You and I both know that whatever she thinks she feels for you is _nothing_ compared to what she and I have. So stay the fuck away from her, Sarevok. Or I'll kill you.”

“I believe you would. Let me leave you with something to think about, though. When was the last time Rana actually spoke fondly of your foster father? When was the last time she looked sad about his death? Bring him up in conversation and watch how fast the _Queen of Deflections_ steers it in a different direction. Then ask yourself why. Better yet, ask _her_ why.”

Sarevok rose from the couch and looked down at her.

“And, Imoen, I think _we_ both know that it doesn't matter if I do stay away from her, because she won't be able to stay away from me.”

He walked away, cursing the girl, Rana, himself, Gorion, the gods, all of them.

If, or when, Imoen took what she thought she knew to Rana, would Rana ever want him close to her again? Now that her beloved sister suspected something between them? Now that they knew she was running around, undetectable, thanks to that damned cloak?

All that aside, she hadn't even spoken to him in a day and a half, since her attempted suicide to keep the Slayer contained. Any time he went to her door, she either ignored him or told him to go away. And the only reason he obeyed was he could sense that if he pushed, even a little, she would snap again. In what way, he didn't know, but it wasn't worth the risk.

So he'd waited.

And he'd thought.

Which led to drinking. Lots and lots of drinking.

Sarevok ignored the tingly spot in the middle of his shoulder blades where Imoen was likely glaring daggers and fantasizing about hurling fireballs and death spells. She may want him dead, but killing him wouldn't resolve things between her and Rana. And deep down, the girl was likely terrified of finding out the extent of everything she didn't know.

Which brought him right back around to the same questions and thoughts that had been plaguing him to the point of drinking.

His father's throne was out of reach. For him, but not for Rana. If Rana came to care for him, and she ascended, she could give him the second best thing to godhood. He wouldn't be a god among gods, but he _could_ be a god among men. He could conquer. He could rule. He could obtain anything and everything he desired.

But at a price.

A price he hadn't given any thought to until he saw the cut on her wrist, her blood soaking into the wood of the floor, and that shard of glass poised at the other. Until he felt her losing a battle against something he couldn't physically contest. Until she cringed away from his touch, and he realized the absence of her left him hollow.

He'd been so close to claiming her. He knew the sounds she made. The way her body moved beneath his. He knew what her skin felt like under his hands and lips. He knew enough to know what she would be like in bed. Yet since she turned away from him, it wasn't those thoughts that kept him awake. It wasn't her body he was craving when he went to her door, and it wasn't pent up lust that made his hands clench into fists when she didn't let him in.

It was _her._ Just… her.

That night he first saw her dreams, how she came by the scars on her thighs… the night he found out that she struck the killing blow because she didn't remember him until it was already too late, and _not_ because she'd remembered and hadn't cared… that night had changed everything.

No… he knew enough by now to know that, even if their childhood had never come up, if they'd never talked about it, they'd likely be in the same place they are now. He'd been drawn to her since he first laid eyes on her, and it had never changed.

“Sarevok, a word, please?”

Turning, he saw the paladin leaning out of his room, looking tired and grim.

“I'm in no mood for-”

“Please, Sarevok.”

Sighing, he entered Keldorn's room and raised an eyebrow when the man locked the door behind him before pouring them both a drink.

“Are you even _allowed_ to get drunk, paladin?”

The man looked like shit. Well, he looked about like Sarevok did, like he'd been drinking himself into Oblivion in order to escape his own thoughts.

“I actually hadn't intended to reach this point of inebriation, it happened by accident,” he sighed, handing Sarevok a generous amount of whiskey.

“You know that's how most people get drunk, right?”

Keldorn shot him a look before collapsing into a chair and gesturing for Sarevok to sit.

“What's this about, paladin?”

“I received a reply from Queen-” Keldorn stopped, rubbing his eyes and huffing. “Wait, I need to backtrack. Forgive me, I haven't been able to rehearse how I was going to say this.”

That piqued his interest. Queen who?

“Okay,” the paladin started again. “When I sent out Rana's letters to our allies, I sent a letter to Queen Elliseme as well.”

“The elf queen? Why?”

“Because I had questions that I thought she could give me answers to. I know she and Rana aren't on good terms, which is why I didn't bring this up to her.”

“Get on with it, paladin,” Sarevok growled when the man went quiet and his eyes became distant.

“When Rana brought you back, you should have been undead. Yet you aren't. You came back completely restored. The only other beings who utilize souls in a similar fashion are liches, so you can understand my curiosity. When you told me about the Harper raid on the temple the two of you were at as children, my interest in this matter deepened. When you, Rana, and Viconia showed up here in town after the ambush in the hot springs, I noticed you and Rana seemed… closer. As if the link between you, between her soul and her piece of it inside you, had been tightened. I noticed this again the following morning when we were discussing Rana and Imoen’s real estate purchase. So I began to connect the dots.”

Sarevok set his drink down, hardly touched. The paladin was referring to the two times they had used their souls to show each other things. The first time, in the Last Stop, as Rana was retiring to Imoen's room. And the second, when she had turned the tables on him and he'd accidentally revealed his plan to seduce her in order to coax her to ascend. He didn't know exactly where the man was going with this, but the paladin wasn't one to waste words on meaningless things. It made him anxious.

“What does the elf queen have to do with this, Keldorn?”

“I wrote to her, explaining what Rana had done, the way she had returned you to life. And I asked two simple questions: How was it possible? And what did it mean for the two of you going forward? The day after I sent that letter, I had a talk with Rana, asking her about how she was able to get out of the hot springs alive. How she came back from the Slayer when she'd been dying at the time. She told me about how you used your portion of her soul to help her regain control of it and transform back. She _also_ told me that you took _half_ her soul rather than a 'portion’.”

Sarevok ignored the anger in the other man's tone. He wasn't going to apologize for taking everything he could. At the time, he would have stopped at nothing to gain as much of an advantage as he could over Rana, and weaken her in any way. There was no point in wringing his hands over it now.

“Stop stalling and say what you called me in here for.”

“When I read over Queen Elliseme’s reply, and took into consideration everything I've learned since writing to her, I realize now that I have to break a promise I made to Rana. That you have a right to know this, and it is not my place, nor hers, to keep this from you.”

_“If you don't spit it out-”_

“Sarevok, the Queen and I believe that when you took half of Rana's soul, you gained immortality along with it.”

Sarevok stared at the paladin.

“If this is some sort of joke, old man…”

“If you wish to know for certain, you'll have to go before the Queen, otherwise, time will certainly tell.”

Sarevok's head swam, and he suddenly regretted all the whiskey he'd been drinking throughout the day and night.

Immortality…

He would never age. Time was no longer his enemy, not that he'd ever given that much thought, but still.

“Wait… you said you were breaking a promise to Rana by telling me this. So she already knew.”

“We had discussed the possibility, yes. I left the telling to her for when she felt the time was right to reveal this to you, but I could not, in good conscious, continue to keep this a secret after Queen Elliseme all but confirmed it.”

_That little…!_

Sarevok wanted to be furious with her. For daring to keep something like this from him. The problem, though, was that he understood why she would. He'd rarely given her any indication that she could trust him enough to divulge something like that.

Before he could finish wrapping his head around all this, Keldorn interrupted his thoughts.

“That's not all…”

The look on the old man's face told him that what was coming next wasn't nearly as pleasant as finding out you're immortal.

“Tell me.”

“You know when I said that I had begun to connect the dots? I may have discovered something else. It's a… hunch, but one I feel strongly about.”

“Are we going to dance around another topic? Must I rip the answer out of you?!”

His patience was strained to its limit after his encounter with Imoen. And the fact that Keldorn had told him about his immortality _first,_ before whatever he was about to say now, boded ill.

“Forgive me, Sarevok, I know you're under a lot of strain right now, with what happened to Rana. It is for this very reason, along with the sensitive nature of what I'm about to say, that makes this difficult.”

Reigning in his temper as best he could, Sarevok poured them both another drink. He waited until they had both finished before prodding him.

“Out with it. If you hesitate out of fear of my reaction-”

“It's not that,” Keldorn sighed, running a hand over his tired face. “Alright, do you remember, at the hot springs, when you told me about the Harper raid?”

“I haven't suffered a head injury since, so _yes, I remember.”_

“Well, I believe Gorion did more than just erase you and Rana's memories of each other. Much more.”

_“Then by all means, enlighten me.”_

Gods, the man could build suspense better than the bard could while telling one of his more dramatic stories.

“From what I'd heard of him, and had confirmed by Jaheira, Gorion was a powerful man. Had even rubbed elbows with Khelban Blackstaff, and was a known friend to Elminster. That spell he used against the two of you, especially as young as you were at the time, should have been absolute. Those memories should have been erased completely, with no way to bring them back. They were not, however. Tell me, Sarevok, before you died, while you were working to bring war to Baldur's Gate and Amn, and contending with Rana, did you ever have dreams you could not explain? Seen, or felt, things regarding her that made no sense to you? Did you find yourself drawn to her despite the animosity between the two of you? And I am only referring to the time _before_ your death.”

Sarevok took a moment to answer, because of the unease that began settling over him.

Just the other night he and Rana had discovered that they had both had that dream of her attempting to assassinate him. The one that always ended with him enraged that he woke up desiring her, rather than hating her. And he certainly couldn't deny being drawn to her, even back then, but he'd always attributed that to the taint. That his divine spark recognized the one in her. Even if he'd never felt that with the other bhaalspawn…

“Yes. To all of those questions. Why?”

“Do you know if Rana also experienced anything of the like?”

He suddenly remembered the other dream, the one Rana had had after coming back from the Slayer, at the hot springs. The one that had been a memory, of Imoen finding her standing along the northern ramparts of Candlekeep, sleepwalking there again. The one that revealed she had dreams that mirrored the deaths witnessed in her forgotten childhood.

And what Rieltar had done to Sarevok as a boy…

_I've watched myself bash Dreppin’s face in with a rock. I've put a kitchen knife through Phlydia’s neck. I've shot arrows into Jondalar’s back while he ran from me. I've taken a rope and wrapped it around Gorion's neck and pulled until his eyes bulged and his face turned purple. I've… I've… gods… I've whipped you in the back with leather until there was hardly any skin left._

“Yes.”

“And it was only when she was about to die, right as you were about to finish her off, that your memories returned?”

“Yes.”

“And _she_ remembered just after striking you down, as you died?”

_“Yes.”_

“Sarevok, I believe that, due to the nature of elves, you and Rana forged an unbreakable bond when you were children. They don't form attachments in the same way most other races do. Like we do. When they come to deeply care for a person, it's much more than what we are capable of. They live far longer than most races, so their minds, and their hearts, expect the objects of their love to live on alongside them. Did the two of you make any promises to each other? I understand you were children, but-”

“Yes, paladin, there were many promises made. _In earnest,”_ he added in case that would be another damned question.

He was on edge, each question pushing him closer to the brink. Some rational part of his mind that hadn't been saturated with alcohol berated him to leave, that he was twisted up enough inside already, and this wouldn't help. But he felt like he was finally close to having an answer. To everything.

“I think Gorion's spell, regardless of how powerful it was, couldn't override what the two of you had formed between each other. It's a common enough occurrence, as you know, that spells don't always have the exact same effect on each person, or even each time it's cast. The intent behind the spell, the ability of the caster, the resistance of the victim, be it magical or mental, all of these are contributing factors.”

“I know how magic works, _now what are you getting at?”_

“The spell did what it was meant to do, but it wasn't perfect. It couldn't be, could it? Sarevok… I think it's possible that your souls latched on to each other, or fused in some way, as a means of countering the spell, your vows and your bond doing whatever was necessary to remain intact. You lost your memories of each other, but they were just buried, not erased. They came back, and the timing of when they returned suggests it wasn't a coincidence, that perhaps it was a last ditch effort to save you both from each other. And from yourselves.”

“You're saying Rana and I have shared a soul since we were children…”

“Yes. When she brought you back from the dead, she wasn't giving you a piece of _her_ soul. She was giving you _back_ part of your own.”

He should have known. It all made sense. It explained _everything._ The dreams back in Baldur's Gate. Why he couldn't kill her, outside of Candlekeep, or within. Why he'd continued to throw assassins at her rather than track her down himself. He'd told himself he couldn't take the time away from the Iron Throne, but he could have managed it if he'd really wanted to.

“Now, none of this is certain, Sarevok…”

“No. I… I think you're right. It explains much.”

“You're taking this better than I expected.”

Sarevok snorted and put his head in his hands.

“A month or more ago, Sir Keldorn, I would have cut out your tongue and forced you to eat it for daring to even _imagine_ uttering _any_ of this to me.”

“And now? What's changed?”

Sighing, he knocked back the rest of the whiskey and looked at the other man.

“She wasn't supposed to be like this. None of this has turned out like I'd expected. Before, I could plan out anything weeks, months, _years,_ in advance. Predicting the outcomes of a hundred different scenarios and reacting to each before they've even happened. She defies reason and ignores every sensible move she could make in favor of doing things her own mad way. And yet it works. She shouldn't have survived this long. She shouldn't have been able to accomplish most of what she's done, yet here she is. Hanging on by a thread, yes, but still _here.”_

“While I'm not disagreeing with you, you didn't answer my question. _What's changed?”_

He knew what the man wanted to hear. Even though they both knew the answer, the paladin wanted him to say it. If it were any other man, Sarevok would have kept his mouth shut, and then broken Keldorn's, but the old man wasn't insisting on an answer out of pettiness or even some kind of self-righteous inclination. He knew the answer, but he wanted to make sure Sarevok knew it, too.

“Me. I changed.”

Neither spoke again for some time. Both wrapped up in their own thoughts. When they did finally talk again, it was to discuss the best way to break all of this to Rana.

Eventually, Sarevok rose and went to leave, stopping at the door to tell the paladin one last thing.

“By the way, Imoen has your wedding ring.”

* * *

 

Later that evening, Sarevok sat in his room, contemplating his conversations with the little menace and the paladin.

He'd been running a whetstone over his sword, something he hadn't been able to do of late, for over an hour, and despite the weapon’s generic look, he was certain it could cut through stone like butter now if he'd wanted it to.

After speaking with Keldorn, he'd paused by Rana's room on the way to his own, but he hadn't tried to knock. If for no other reason than he didn't know what to say. She needed to know that Imoen had been in the room with them during the Slayer's uprising attempt. That she'd puzzled out a good deal of what she'd seen and heard. Rana needed to be prepared for that eventual confrontation with her sister, because if the brat sprung it on her like she'd done with him, it could go very, very, badly.

Of course, Sarevok already knew what would happen the moment he told her that Imoen knew. That wall that he'd spent weeks tearing down, faster than she could build it back, would be right back up, taller and better fortified than he'd be able to contend with.

He'd lose her. He'd saved her from the Slayer, and from her taking her own life to stop it, but he was _still_ going to lose her. And now, he understood why that bothered him so much.

Keldorn had offered to tell Rana about his discovery, but Sarevok had refused. He didn't know if telling her would be the last nail in the coffin of his ambitions, their relationship, or whatever this was, or if this would be his saving grace, but it would be better if it came from him. There was quite a bit the paladin wasn't aware of, more evidence that supported the theory, that he could use if she tried to deny it. He doubted she would, though.

A soft rap on his door interrupted his brooding.

“It's me.”

“Come in.”

She looked tired. Not drunk, though, so she was obviously doing better than he was.

Rana looked at the sword in his lap for a long moment. When she finally dragged her eyes up to his, there was nothing behind them that hinted at her thoughts, and she glanced away almost immediately.

“Come with me. I have something for you,” she said, her voice cracking from misuse, and her tone almost mechanical.

“Wait, we need to talk-”

She turned and walked out of the doorway as if she hadn't heard him. Cursing, he rose to follow her.

When she led him into her room, Rook leapt off the dresser to twine around his legs. The gray kitten seemed to have grown in the short time since he'd seen him last.

“Rana…”

She didn't look at him, and she shifted away from him when he said her name, but he couldn't tell if it was intentional or if she'd even heard him. Gesturing to her bed, she moved to lean against her dresser. When he could finally tear his eyes from her and see what lay on the sheets, his heart stopped.

The sheath was different, but he recognized the dark red pommel instantly.

Slowly, he went to the bed and picked up the Sword of Chaos. The familiar weight of it in his hands, greater than the sword he'd been wielding since returning to life, brought back a torrent of memories. Almost reverently, he slid the blade from its sheath, and was pleased that it was still just as perfect as the day it was forged. The nearly black steel seemed to swallow the low candlelight of the room, and when he ran his fingers over the surface of the weapon, a jolt ran up his arm, as if touching it had awoken it.

“Some of your followers smuggled it out of Baldur's Gate, before your ashes could even settle, at the behest of Irenicus.”

“Irenicus? What would he have wanted with my sword?”

Rana hiked one shoulder and crossed her arms across her chest.

“I can't remember the details, exactly. Something about wanting to study the blood that stained it. Yours and mine, I suppose. Perhaps to verify our divinity. I found it as I was trying to escape.”

“And you kept it all this time? And maintained it? Why?”

Another shrug, and he noticed she still wouldn't look him in the eye.

“Seemed a waste to sell something like that. Figured I wouldn't be able to get what it must be worth anyway. As for keeping it clean, I wasn't going to mistreat a weapon because of its master.”

“I see.”

He didn't doubt there was more to it than that, but he didn't press her.

His own blood had gone into the forging of the weapon. It had been made just for him, exactly to his specifications, and the cost of the materials had been steep. Winksi was the one who'd seen to its completion, choosing a dwarf that his step-father had betrayed to forge it, and the result was still nothing short of a masterpiece.

“I'll give you two a minute alone,” Rana said, with a trace of humor in her voice.

She ghosted out of the room before he could stop her. Sighing, he slid the the sword back in its sheath, still marveling that it was here. He'd given it only a fleeting thought now and again, assuming it lost, and lamenting it when the sword he wielded now didn't feel anywhere near the same.

Rook hopped up on the bed, sniffing delicately at the pommel before throwing his head against his hand, and kept headbutting him until he scratched behind his ears.

“Spoiled, useless creature,” he grunted, still petting him.

The kitten bounded across the bed, over the nightstand, leaping onto the dresser, and finally climbing his way up onto the mantle above the fireplace, and the small fire that burned within it. Sarevok gazed at the embers, lost in thought, wondering why Rana chose to give him his sword _now._

Persistent _merps!_ eventually made him look up in annoyance, just in time to watch Rook bat the ring that sat up there onto the floor. It rolled across the wood and stopped at his feet. Bending over, he plucked it up and examined it again.

Another thing that Rana had kept, with no explainable reason why, and a thousand reasons not to.

A letter joined the ring as the irritating feline swiped it off the mantle as well. Rana's name scrawled across the front had him opening it, not even caring if she walked in and caught him reading it. He'd just say her damned cat insisted he read it.

Some unknown, unpleasant feeling burned through his veins, almost like anger, but somehow worse, when he skimmed over the contents of the letter, and saw at the bottom who it was from.

_Yoshimo._

Tamoko's brother.

Rana's former lover.

Hands snatched the letter from his own, and before he could react, Rana tossed the letter into the flames.

“What are you-”

“I'd forgotten it was up there,” she replied, cutting him off.

Watching the paper curl and blacken before burning into ash, he expected her to look angry, or triumphant, or sad, or _something,_ but she still wore that numb, blank expression.

“I found it when I was sorting my bag. Reading it set me off, so I went into town, following the pull of another bhaalspawn. That's why I killed her, the woman Keldorn had mentioned at the meeting a few days ago. I needed to get the anger out somehow. I'd meant to burn it when I got back, but you pissed me off, with your speech about the futility of happiness and love and what not, and not letting me catch those kittens, so I forgot.”

“Rana, we need to-”

“I'm sorry I never told you about your sword,” she said, cutting him off yet again, and turning away from him. “And that I hadn’t returned it to you sooner.”

“Rana, turn around and look at me.”

“I don't think it retained _all_ of its power, but it should serve you better than the one you have now,” she continued as if he hadn't spoken, walking away from him.

“My _dhaer,_ look at me.”

“It's getting late, I'd like to retire now. Take your sword-”

_“LOOK AT ME!”_

She stopped, her back to him, just before her bed. He saw her shoulders sag as if she sighed, before she turned around. She couldn't cover up the pain and weariness in her eyes fast enough this time.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm not doing anything-”

“Don't lie to me, Rana. You've been locked up in here for days, and then once you finally crawl out, it's to give me my sword and then kick me right back out again, without even looking me in the eyes while you do it.”

“After what happened, Sarevok, I think it's better if you stay away.”

“Better for whom?” He asked, taking a step closer to her.

“Look, would it make you happy if I said that, after the thing with the Slayer, I've never been as close to wanting ascension as I am now?”

“What? Why now?”

“There's a whole lot of pain that I won't ever have to endure again if I'm a god,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her stomach.

It suddenly struck him how young she still was. It was easy to forget when you laid out the list of foes she'd defeated, and all of her other near-impossible achievements.

Then the realization of what she'd said, what she'd meant, sunk it.

“You're serious?”

Her eyes flashed with anger, and she straightened, obviously ready for a fight.

“What? This is what you want, isn't it? For me to tell you that you were right, I've been an idiot not to see why being a goddess would be a much better alternative than remaining here. I mean, looking back, you shoulda worked it from a different angle, it wouldn't have been difficult to sell me on the notion of no more pain and suffering.”

She had begun to pace as she spoke, and he found himself relieved that she was growing angrier with each word. He could take her fury. Anything was better than that wall of indifference.

“Is that what you've been in here doing? Contemplating ascension?”

“No, I've been in here brushing up on my knitting,” she snapped.

Before she could speak again, he went and locked her door. Having just remembered Imoen and her cloak, he didn't want to run the risk of her slipping in here and eavesdropping again. He had much to say, and he'd prefer to do it without an audience.

“What are you doing?” She asked him, her voice suddenly wary.

“Making sure we're not barged in on,” he replied, choosing _not_ to bring up her sister at the moment.

“There's nothing more that needs to be said, Sarevok. I'm seriously considering becoming a goddess. You win. If you push, though, I'll push back and change my mind again. As for… the other part of what you want… I'm not safe enough to be alone with anymore.”

His sudden laugh made her eyes blaze with rage.

“The fuck are you laughing at?”

“The gods hate me, I'm sure of it now.”

“I don't follow.”

Setting his sword down carefully atop her dresser, he stepped closer to her.

“How long I've waited to hear you even _admit_ to just _thinking_ about becoming a goddess. How many times I'd fantasized of the power I would wield as your general. And now, _now,_ you choose to cave in, when I've finally begun to realize what was missing from those fantasies.”

Rana looked up at him, confused and irritated.

“What's missing, then?”

Reaching out, he took her hand and raised it, palm up, and pressed the ring of protection into it.

“When I gave you this, I told myself the reason was that it would make it easier to frame you for Rieltar's murder. While that was part of it, it wasn't the only reason. Not even the main reason.”

Rana looked down at the ring, then closed her hand around it, squeezing it tightly before looking back up at him.

“Then why did you give it to me?”

“I could tell you a half-truth, that you were _mine_ to kill, and I didn't want my step-father to steal that honor, but... little one, I couldn't stand the thought of Rieltar hurting you. Of doing any of the things he did to me, or to my step-mother. I wanted him dead, and I wanted you blamed for it, but I wanted you to walk out of that encounter unscathed.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Why are _you_ giving me my sword now?”

“Fair enough” she mumbled, and slid the ring onto her pointer finger.

He hadn't expected her to wear it again, but seeing it on her pale hand pleased him.

“You didn't answer the question, though,” she said softly, glancing up at him.

“Which one?”

“What's missing? Why aren't you overjoyed that I'm thinking about godhood? Or are you just bummed that I think it wise if you keep your distance? That's it, isn't it? Telling you that you can't get all handsy took the wind out of your sails.”

“Is that really what you want? For me to stay away? You'll lead this group but remain apart, not allowing anyone close again?”

“Funny. I tell you it might be best to stay away, and you automatically assume that applies to everyone else, as well.”

That feeling he felt while reading over Yoshimo's letter came roaring back.

“Little one, if I can't have you, what makes you think I'll stand by and let anyone _else_ so much as touch you?”

“That's not… wait, you think I'm trying to say I wanna keep my options open? Or something? Shit, Sarevok, are you jealous? Is that what's happening right now?”

Is that what that was? Jealousy? He wasn't accustomed to feeling it in regards to a rival. He didn't like the feeling. At all.

Rana threw her head back and laughed… and laughed… and laughed; and if he weren't irritated by how derailed this conversation had become, he'd savor the sound of it. Somehow, she was beginning to show signs of her old self again, which meant she wasn't out of his reach just yet.

“Are you done?”

Rana shook her head, still chuckling, and wiped at her eyes.

“Not even close. This is great.”

“My jealousy amuses you?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Really? You're so self-assured and arrogant and used to being the biggest, baddest guy in the room that seeing you get jealous over the thought of another man is… well, hilarious.”

Scowling down at her only made her laugh harder. Scooping her up to set her on her desk shut her up really fast, though.

“Did you already forget what I said about getting handsy?” She demanded, bristling, but suddenly unable to look him in the eyes again.

“You keep steering this in a completely different direction than I intend, and I need you to focus.”

“Like this is gonna help,” she mumbled, crossing her arms and avoiding looking at him. “Can you, like, back up a bit?”

Planting his hands on the desk, on either side of her, he leaned in closer.

“Can you look at me while making that request?”

When she closed her eyes, sighed, and gave a barely imperceptible shake of her head, he finally understood why she'd been trying to keep space between them. The large amount of alcohol that was still in his system was making him slow. And he pounced on the idea that it was also behind his random bout of irrational jealousy, as well.

“Are we going to have to do this _again,_ Rana? Where you push me away, pretending that's what you want, until I grow tired of it and call your bluff?”

“You make it sound like I'm predictable.”

“In this _one_ way you are. I propose we skip over this part and pretend we already got it out of the way.”

“Oh? Guess that means we don't have to kiss and maul each other until someone interrupts us, then.”

The wood beneath his palms groaned as he fought not to correct that omission.

“Little one, if we _don't_ skip over that part, I'll forget what it was I've spent the last several hours thinking of saying to you. And I'm killing the next person that interrupts us, just so we're clear.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “I want you to back up so I can listen to what you have to say without being distracted, not because I don't want you close. There. Better?”

“Yes,” he replied, and straightened up.

She muttered something about him being a bossy asshole, but he ignored it in favor of collecting his thoughts. As usual, this wasn't going anything like he'd planned. If Rana factored into anything whatsoever, he needed to just accept that he couldn't anticipate how anything would go.

“Now, where was I?”

“You _still_ haven't explained why you don't seem happy about me thinking about ascension. I mean, after everything, the fact that you're not ecstatic makes me want to hit you. I've fought you on this for what seems like ages now and I finally admit defeat and you're just like, 'meh'. Seriously, Sarevok, no more deflecting. I need to know what happened to you between _that_ night and now. I need to know why-”

“Every time I've thought about leading your armies against your foes, crushing those who oppose your rule as the goddess of murder, there's something… off. When I think about the end of the day, once the battle has been won, and I retire to my bed, I feel like I've forgotten something. When I imagine fighting, or planning, or _anything,_ it feels like I'm missing some crucial detail, and the absence of it should be obvious to me. Sometimes… I'm not _quite_ as clever as I think I am.”

He sighed and reached out to brush her tangled hair away from her face.

“You… are what's missing.”

“That only just now occurred to you?” She asked softly, tilting her head to study him. “Genius, how am I supposed to be there with you if I'm a goddess?”

“As I said. _Sometimes,_ I'm not as clever.”

“So what finally made you put two and two together?”

“That is… a long story.”

“We haven't spoken in, like, two days. That's not enough time to accumulate 'a long story’.”

“Around you it is,” he grumbled. “This goes further back than just these past few days. Much further. It's a culmination of many different things, and I may have had some help in piecing it all together.”

“Well, don't get too specific on me here. I wouldn't want you to overwhelm me with all these details,” she replied dryly.

_I spent too long talking to the paladin._

“Of course,” she continued. “We _are_ due for an interruption, if you wanna just hold off a bit. Or maybe that only happens when things are getting physical.”

“We could find out,” he said huskily. “It may be best to have this conversation when I haven't been drinking all day, anyway.”

“Wow, this must be heavy then if it's driven you to drinking indiscriminately. No wonder you've been deflecting and are ready to put this off for another time.”

“Or perhaps I've just grown weary of being locked in your room and we're still wearing all of our clothes.”

Rana let out a surprised laugh, and didn't fight him when he tugged her to the edge of the dresser, opening her legs so he could step between them.

“This is the part where I say this is a bad idea,” she whispered, her voice already strained.

“And then I tell you to tell me to stop,” he replied, brushing her hair away from her neck so he could explore it with his mouth.

_“Sarevok,”_ she breathed, and he gripped her hips tightly to pull her even closer to him in response to the sound of his name spoken from her like that.

When he felt her hands slip beneath his shirt, her nails gently raking down his stomach, he captured her lips with his own, already close to tearing away their clothes and taking her right here.

“Any second now,” he growled in between heated kisses.

“Ten gold says it's Viconia again,” she whimpered, arching her back as he began to work her shirt up.

_“Fifteen says it's Imoen,”_ he replied irritably.

Turns out, they were both wrong.

“Hey, Rana, you up?” Valygar's voice rang out from the other side of her door.

“Pity. I liked him,” Sarevok sighed, reaching for his sword.

Rana swatted his hand aside then hopped off the desk and went to let the ranger in.

“We called it, so you don't get to be mad.”

“The fact that I have to spend another night trying to sleep in this condition is more than enough reason to be mad.”

She chuckled as she unlocked the door.

“You have only yourself to blame.”

“And _you.”_

She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a “who, me?” kind of look.

“Ah, good, you're still awake,” Valygar sighed with relief as he stepped into the room, then froze when he saw Sarevok was also present.

“I did it again, didn't I? Interrupted something?”

“Yes,” they chorused back, with varying degrees of annoyance in both their voices.

“Well, seeing as I'm still breathing, that must either mean you both really do love me, or I didn't come at the _worst_ possible time.”

“You've definitely appeared at worse times,” Rana agreed, clearly referring to the sparring incident.

“Right. Well, I'm glad you're both here, I wanted to tell you this before I reported to Keldorn and the others. I figured you have a right to hear it first.”

“Wait, did you only just now get back from that ranger outpost?” Rana asked in surprise.

“Yeeeeees. Wow, Rana, you only just now realized I was gone longer than I said I'd be? I'm wounded.”

“Not yet you're not,” Sarevok growled, still annoyed with the man.

Valygar flashed him a tired grin.

“Guess you two have been too busy to notice?”

Sarevok and Rana exchanged a look.

“What? What I miss?”

“You first, tell us what you found out with the other rangers.”

“Okay, bad news is that none of them knew where Abazigal's hiding out at. They _did_ notice a large mercenary army in the area some time ago, heading towards the mountains. They tracked them, but since they were moving away from the village, they eventually returned to the outpost.”

“And the good news?”

“Well, I don't know if this is exactly _good_ news. Um, y'all might wanna sit down for this.”

They just stared at him. If he had any idea what had transpired since his departure, he would understand why his suggestion could almost be funny.

“Suit yourselves. The rangers told me about an area southeast of the outpost, about a day's ride from town. They haven't been able to get close enough to investigate, something about the place being cursed, but from what I was told, and later found out when I went there myself, I believe that's where those missing children are.”

“What kind of area?”

Valygar leaned against the desk and took a moment to collect his thoughts.

“It's a place called Tor Albtraum.”

Sarevok felt like something had slammed into his chest. That name…

_Tor Albtraum…_

Why did it sound so familiar?

Rana's gasp told him she had also heard it before.

“Does that name ring a bell?”

“Yes,” Rana answered, brows furrowed in confusion. “Dunno why though. It's just like the name of this town, Tor Niedrig. I've heard it somewhere before, but for the life of me, I can't remember where.”

“Tor Albtraum is the name of an old temple of Bhaal,” Valygar explained gently, watching them both. “It was sacked by Harpers around fifteen years ago. Now, it's a temple of Cyric, led by the same man who led it years before.”

Rana sank down onto her bed, raked her hand through her hair, and looked up at Sarevok. He looked back at her, with his heart hammering in his chest, and his gaze slid to the Sword of Chaos. Her eyes followed his, before she looked back at him.

No words passed between them, out loud or within their soul, but they both knew what the other was thinking. Both knew that the next part of their journey would have to be taken alone. Just the two of them.

“Valygar,” Sarevok murmured, turning back to the man. “What was the man's name?”

_Vengeance…_

At long last, after all these years…

They were going home.

“High Priest Jorval.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, this is it. The next chapter is THE chapter. One I know you've all been waiting for, one I've certainly been waiting for, and one I've realized I may have hyped up to the point that I may not be able to deliver haha
> 
> This one may take awhile, as there's A LOT of content to get through, and I don't want to skimp on the details.


	24. Homecoming Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I had said that this chapter would finally have all those interruptions pay off, but I accidentally fibbed. I'm sorry! This chapter is turning out WAAAAAY longer than I had anticipated, and I was already prepared for it to be lengthy. So I'm cutting it in half. 
> 
> Imoen's part was another thing that was supposed to happen later, but no matter how hard I tried, she kept insisting it happen now. And, Rana is really putting the Chaotic in Chaotic Neutral. So it's gotten way out of my control. 
> 
> So, here is Part 1 of Chapter 24. Unlike all previous chapters, where I don't start the next until I've posted the completed one, I'm already well into Part 2. It could be up as early as later tonight, if I don't hit a block. If not, look for it in the next day or two.

** Chapter 24: Homecoming Part 1 **

_Ilyrana_

_Being a grown woman and the leader of a group of people should mean that I can come and go whenever I please. At my leisure. With only minimal yelling and swearing involved._

After they had briefed Valygar on what he'd missed during his outing, Rana and Sarevok had begun packing, while the ranger went downstairs to wake the others and tell them of recent developments.

Sarevok had wanted to slip out while the others were still asleep, and just let Valygar tell them where they had gone in the morning. He had been outvoted. As much as she'd have liked to do that, especially now, in the midst of this shit storm, she knew the others would have simply followed after them. Which was something neither of them wanted. This was theirs, and theirs alone, to see to.

So, she'd gone down to the dining room and waited for her companions to wake up and join her. Then, she'd stood before all of them and explained what life had been like for two young children growing up in a cult. And about the man responsible for their suffering.

Then, she spoke of a very different man, a good man, who had done a terrible thing to those two children when he tore them apart. And how those two children grew up and began hunting one another, neither remembering what the other had once meant to them, until it was too late.

She knew there would be push back, that the idea of her leaving for a time, without them, wouldn't be well received. But she hadn't anticipated _this._

“Ilyrana, I _cannot,_ in good conscience, just sit here while you go _butcher_ people with that _sadist!”_ Jaheira spat, pointing at Sarevok.

“Are you upset that we'll be sparing any children we find?” Sarevok drawled. “I can understand why that wouldn't sit well with a Harper.”

Everyone but Keldorn and Valygar had been stunned into silence when Rana had told them about her and Sarevok's childhood. Jaheira most of all. About _why_ they were going to this temple. That rescuing the little ones was a priority, but not their main objective. That Jorval was. The high priest who'd overseen the young bhaalspawns’ mistreatment, and encouraged the abuse against them. And who, if not for Sarevok's constant interventions, would have violated Rana along with the countless other girls that had come through that temple.

She wanted to believe that Jaheira had had no prior knowledge of the Harper raid, but she just couldn't be sure. She'd watched the other woman's reaction closely when she told them all about Gorion erasing their memories. The druid had tried to deny it, accuse them of lying, make excuses for what he'd done, anything other than accept what happened. Rana didn't know what she would have done if the woman had known of it. Or condoned it.

Once Rana and Sarevok had gotten around to announcing their intention to go there, back to the temple they were raised in, Jaheira had become rabid about stopping them.

“I will not be blamed for the slaughter of infants by you, fiend! You dare to try and judge me? _You?_ How many children have _you_ killed? How many more would have died, or been orphaned, by your war!?”

“You can place a whole host of sins at my feet, Jaheira, but killing children _isn't one of them._ And whether you participated in the culling of bhaalspawn children or not, it _was your_ organization that did it.”

Keldorn raised a hand for silence before the druid could respond.

“The past isn't worth fighting about now. We can sit here all night and well into the tomorrow slinging accusations and old hurts around, but it will be a waste of time. Rana, you know how dangerous it is to separate from the group. _You_ are the target of at least one bounty, and _you_ are the one that the rest of the Five are after. If anyone gets word that you've gone off alone…”

“She won't be alone, old man,” Sarevok said softly, his voice laced with menace.

“Aye, you'll be with her, abomination,” Anomen sneered from his place at the doorway. “Forgive me if that doesn't sit well with some of us! How long have you been waiting for a chance to get her alone?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Sarevok purred, and Rana clenched her teeth in irritation at his brazen attempt to bait the knight.

Imoen had remained silent since Rana had stood before all of them and told them about her early childhood. She hadn't said a word or evinced any reaction. She'd just stood there, her fury rolling off of her in waves that Rana could practically feel pricking along her skin.

She knew why she was mad. How many times had she made her sister the same promise? _No more secrets._ And how many secrets did she continue to hoard after each time she told that lie? The regret of hurting Imoen yet again hung heavy on her, but it would not stop her from seeing this done.

The voices of the others rose as they continued to argue, with the occasional bellow from Keldorn to temporarily calm things down before a fight broke out.

Jaheira and Anomen teamed up to hurl accusations at Sarevok, who shouted both of them down with accusations of his own against the two.

Haer'Dalis was the only one still sitting, humming quietly to himself while he tuned his lute. He probably thought he'd entered a paradise of chaos, what with all the yelling.

Valygar had stayed to help Keldorn referee, but Jaheira had quickly tried to drag him onto her side, which he refused, and Rana was fairly certain that was the end of their little tryst.

“We can't make a move anyway until reinforcements get here, what does it matter if they leave for a couple of days?” Viconia interjected.

Trust the drow to back the plan that involved wholesale slaughter. Even if she wouldn't get to participate.

“What if they're ambushed? What if the Temple's defenses are better than Valygar observed? What if-”

“Two people will have an easier time of getting there and back, unmolested, than an entire group.”

Rana took a deep breath to try and settle her nerves. All of this posturing was pointless. Necessary perhaps, to get everyone's feelings out in the open, but otherwise a waste of time. She'd already made her decision. There was nothing that could be said that would change it.

“Sir Keldorn,” Rana finally spoke, loud enough to carry.

When everyone had quieted to look at her, she didn't look at anyone but Keldorn, addressing only him.

“My decision has been made. And it is final. You will be in charge while I'm gone. If we get any of my former companions showing up at our doorstep, I expect them to be put up in a room and briefed about what's going on. Valygar says it's a day's ride from here to the temple, so expect us to be gone no longer than three days. If after three days have passed and we haven't returned, then you can send out a search party or bring the hammer down on Tor Albtraum, whichever you see fit to do. Everyone else will continue to rotate watches around the town and mines. I have heard everyone's concerns, but does anyone have any questions?”

“You're seriously going to go through with this?” Jaheira asked her, and she sounded both disbelieving and fearful.

“Yes. They're crazed heretics of the Mad God, don't act like I haven't killed their kind before. We'll get any children we find out of there and send them this way, so be on the lookout.”

“There are rumors that Cyric isn't quite so mad anymore,” Haer'Dalis piped up.

“Guess we'll find out once we take the measure of his followers.”

“My lady, at least allow another person to go with you!”

“Is there anyone else here who was forced to fight for scraps and lived under the threat of molestation and being sacrificed?” She demanded. “Does that apply to any of you? No? Then I'm going to go finish getting ready.”

She turned and headed for the doorway before anyone could stop her. As she passed Anomen, the knight stepped in front of her at the last second, so that she practically collided with him, and his hands grasped her waist to steady her.

“My lady, _please,_ I implore you, this isn't a good idea. How are we supposed to protect you if you're out of our reach?”

“In case you've forgotten, Sir Anomen,” Rana bit out, trying to step back out of his grip. “I'm more than capable of looking out for myself, especially out in the wilds.”

To her shock, his hold on her tightened, and when he leaned in closer to beg her once more to stay, she could smell alcohol and the cloying scent of various perfumes on his skin.

Valygar somewhat forcefully inserted himself between them, his greater height forcing Anomen to look up at him.

“The hells are you about, Corthala?”

 _“The lady_ has made up her mind.”

Rana sighed, glancing back to see if anyone was noticing this little exchange.

Jaheira was pacing, and shooting dark looks at Sarevok, who was deep in conversation with Keldorn. Haer'Dalis was trying to coax Imoen into speaking to him, but she remained still, with her back to everyone. Viconia had noticed, though, and was approaching.

“Insubordinate swine! You dare question her decisions? Were I leader of this company, I would flay the skin from your bones and use it to make a new bag for even thinking of showing such disrespect to another female!”

Rana used the drow's timely interference to slip out, wrinkling her nose at the smell of sweat and other bodily fluids that clung to the knight's disheveled clothes. He must have just recently returned from one of the inns, and hadn't had the time to clean up. She didn't care if the man was spending his time and his gold on whores, but Keldorn _had_ instructed him to quit drinking.

_And you'd think he'd be in a slightly better mood if he was getting some._

It was something she'd have to put off worrying about until she returned.

Once she was back in her room, she began rummaging through her bag of holding to make sure her armor, healing potions, the smaller bag that held some of her herbs, and a few other choice items were all in there and within easy reach.

It was cold out, so she changed into one of her long sleeved blouses and threw on a fresh pair of leggings and her thigh high boots. She'd don her armor once they got closer to the temple, wanting to ride light in order to avoid exhausting her mount. Running a brush through her tangled mass of hair, she tied it up into a tail to keep it out of her face while she rode.

She tried to keep moving, checking and double checking her equipment, in order to avoid one particular thought that kept trying to creep into the forefront of her mind.

They were going to be alone. For _three_ days. Before now, she'd never known a person could feel anticipation in equal measure with dread.

Buckling on her sword belt, and throwing on her heavy cloak, she was so busy trying _not_ to think, that she didn't hear her sister slip into her room until she shut the door behind her.

Both women just stared at each other from opposite ends of the room for a moment, neither wanting to begin what would come next.

“Why are you doing this, Rana?” Imoen finally whispered.

“Revenge.”

“For what that priest did? I guess I can understand that, but this isn't solely about him is it?”

She wanted to lie, or deflect, but the time for  deceptions was over. She owed Imoen the truth.

At least, as much as Rana was willing to give, that is.

“No, it's not.”

“You want to go back there. Back to where it all started. Where you lost your mother. Where you became friends with Sarevok. Gods, that feels weird to say. Rana, why didn't you ever tell me about any of this?”

Imoen sounded _way_ calmer than Rana would have been if their situation was reversed.

“I didn't remember any of it until I killed Sarevok.”

“That's why you were so distraught, right? You were trying to fend off the sorrow?”

_Clever girl._

“Yes,” Rana replied softly.

“Okay, then why didn't you say anything after?”

“Because after that came Irenicus. And then chasing him down to get you back. When would have been a good time for a conversation like that?”

Imoen's eyes flashed, but Rana kept talking before she could say anything. She'd give her the whole of it.

“And even if I'd had all the time in the world, I still wouldn't have told you. I thought Sarevok was gone for good. I wanted to keep those memories of us together as children close. I didn't want them tainted by your reaction to them. I didn't want to feel guilty for having cared about him at one point.”

“At one point? Rana, you care about him _now.”_

“Yes, I do,” she sighed, steeling herself for the questions she knew had to be coming.

“He's a _monster.”_

“Yes, he is.”

She could tell that Imoen hadn't expected her to agree with that statement, that she must have thought Rana would defend him.

“Then… _why?”_

“Am I not a monster, too?”

“Rana-”

“Imoen, I'm not going to sit here and try to convince you that he's not as bad as we thought he was. Or even as bad as he once was. Nor am I going to let you try to convince _me_ that I'm any different from _him_. If I were, I wouldn't be lusting at the thought of killing the High Priest, or butchering his flock.”

“And what about _him?_ Is murder _all_ you lust for?”

Rana picked up her Darkfire bow, looking down at it while she ran a hand slowly over the runes etched into it.

Gods, how to answer that question? She had resigned herself to telling as much of the truth as she could, but to say this out loud, to give voice to how she felt about Sarevok to Imoen, was too much. Especially when she hadn't allowed herself to think about what she was feeling.

She wanted him, there was no denying that. She found herself enjoying having him around. Not all the time, no, but way more than she ever thought she could. And more so as time went on and they became more comfortable around each other. When they were together, just bantering like they were doing a little while ago, it almost felt like they were kids again. That camaraderie, combined with the constant battling of wills... it was an addictive feeling, and she knew she chased it just as desperately as any other addict chased their chosen poison.

It was more than lust, but she didn't know just how much more. She didn't _want_ to know.

When she didn't answer, Imoen finally snapped.

“He's only after your power, ya idiot! You think he actually gives a damn about you? About what you've been through? You think this isn't all just some ego trip for him? That you're not just another woman he's going to use and then discard once he gets bored with you? Open your eyes, Ilyrana! He's a footnote in the telling of your story, and he knows it and he can't stand it! He's going to self-destruct eventually and he's going to do everything he can to take you down with him when he does.”

Rana closed her eyes and sighed.

“Do you think I haven't thought of _any_ of what you just said? Besides, I never said I-”

“So… what? You get off on being hurt by assholes? I mean, that would explain Yoshimo-”

 _“Don't_ say his name.”

“-and it would explain Kivan. I guess you decided to go big here and get involved with the king of assholes. Are you that bored? You think your life isn't fucked up enough already?”

Rana slung her bow over one shoulder, along with her quiver and just looked at her sister.

“You're veering off topic.”

“Like hell I am! Have you slept with him?”

“No.”

“Are you _planning_ on sleeping with him?”

“No.”

 _Technically not a lie,_ Rana thought. _She and I both know I don't_ plan _anything. Things just happen and I react accordingly. And thus, here we are._

“Look, I called this a while back, remember? I asked you if there was anything going on, and you said no. You flat out said, _to my face,_ that you couldn't want him after everything he's done to you. Yet, here we are. I find out you two were kids together and you just admitted that you care about him. I mean, you had to know that I wasn't going to be okay with this. That I'll _never_ be okay with this. How serious is this thing between you two?”

Rana wanted this conversation to be over. She was confused enough as it was after Sarevok didn't seem all that thrilled about her maybe wanting to ascend.  She wanted to be honest with Imoen, but it was hard to when she herself didn't know what she was feeling. And, she really didn't want to have to own up to anything else right now. _Especially_ to the physical things.

“Imoen, _there's_ _nothing there._ Except that I cared about him as a child and I can't help but care about him as an adult,” She said, not even caring anymore about lying as long as it brought this to an end. “I don't know what else to tell you, Imoen. I understand you're angry about me keeping this chapter of my past from you. And I get why you're upset about Sarevok. I'm sorry, okay? Nothing, though, is going to change the fact that I'm going to walk out that door, with him and no one else, and go take my vengeance and hopefully close this chapter for good.”

“Why no one else?”

“Because I don't want to have to hide how good it's going to feel when I make that bastard, Jorval, bleed. I don't wanna have to pretend that I'm not enjoying every second of hurting him just to hide y'all's delicate sensibilities.”

“So, that's it? 'Sorry, sis, but I'm gonna do what I'm gonna do and fuck how you feel about it?’”

“I don't mean it quite that callously, but yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Wow. Okay, then.”

Imoen turned around and walked to the door. Rana had that same feeling she'd had back at the hot springs. That she had just put something into motion with no way to stop it, unless she acted _right_ _now._

Taking a deep breath, she let her sister walk away. Maybe it was better this way. Imoen had suffered so much because of her. And she had paid that back with secrets, and lies, and her own selfishness. Rana had wanted to keep Sarevok away physically, because of the Slayer, and because of the consequences. Now, she supposed, it was appropriate that she keep her sister at arm's length emotionally, so she couldn't hurt her anymore.

Imoen opened the door and stopped. When she turned around, her eyes glittered, but not with tears. They glowed a little, like how her’s and Sarevok's did with strong emotions.

“Is there anything else you'd like to tell me before you leave? About Sarevok? About you? Anything you said right now that you wanna change? Any other secrets ya wanna confess?”

Unable to utter yet another lie, Rana just shook her head.

Imoen let out a hollow little laugh.

“Ya know, just because you came to hate Gorion for trying to save you, doesn't mean _my_ feelings about him have changed at all. It doesn't change the fact that he helped raise me, too. And it doesn't change that he cared for you for years and died trying to keep you safe. And because it was Sarevok who killed him, you would think there's enough poetic justice there to let it all go and forgive him. But you still hate him, don't you?”

“Yes,” Rana admitted quietly.

“Then you don't deserve the sacrifice he made for you. His death was in vain. He should have handed you over that night when that bastard came for you, and then maybe your memories would have come back sooner. Or maybe not, and Sarevok could have just killed you. Long before you could ruin everyone else's lives. Everyone who's cared for you, and made their own sacrifices to help you. Mazzy, Edwin, Korgan. To name _just_ a few. You deserve each other, ya know. You both poison everyone around you and everything you touch.”

As she turned back around to leave, she paused for a second, then looked back at Rana one last time.

“Oh, and by the way,” Imoen said. “I know you're full of shit. I was there, wearing my nondetection cloak, when you were going to kill yourself to keep the Slayer away. I know there's been things going on between you and Sarevok for a while now, that this is more than just sharing some happy childhood memories together. I know he wants you to become a goddess, if that's in the cards for you, so he can share in that power. I want you to know that that's never going to happen. I'm not going to let you cop out of everything you've done and become a god. I'm not going to let you and Sarevok destroy the realm because you both get off on misery and death. So, I hope you remember just enough of who you are, or who you _used_ to be, to just finish this war without being a coward and taking the easy way out by trying to ascend. Because I'll stop you if you do. By any means necessary.”

* * *

 

Rana dismounted from her horse with a groan, her legs almost buckling beneath her when her feet touched the ground. She'd forgotten how sore horseback riding could make a person if they didn't ride regularly. Her thighs burned and her lower back ached something fierce, and she was reminded of one of the many reasons why she preferred not to use horses. That, and they smelled.

They'd been riding hard all through the night, and when the dawn's rays finally began pouring over the horizon, they stopped to let the horses rest for a little while.

Neither had spoken since they left the stables in town. Sarevok appeared lost in thought, barely sparing her a glance as he took the reigns of her bay gelding from her hands and led both horses to a nearby brook. She was thankful for the silence, as each mile she put between her and her sister felt more and more like a cord was being stretched taut. By the time they reached Tor Albtraum, she was sure it would snap, leaving them both staring at each other from opposite ends of the chasm Rana had created, both holding the frayed ends of what was left.

That night, eons ago now, at the hot springs, she'd known somehow that this would be the outcome of all those secrets kept between them. She knew she should have spoken up, told Imoen about her childhood, and about that unexplainable pull that kept her and Sarevok coming back to each other, despite how viciously they had once fought it. She'd known and done nothing. Nothing except create more secrets. And told more lies.

She'd told Sarevok she wouldn't give herself to him because she'd lose Imoen, which was a price she wasn't willing to pay. And yet she'd paid it anyway. All because she’d been… scared. Of what her sister would say. What she would think, when Rana revealed everything. And now, most of what she'd kept so close was out there, and what she hadn't said, Imoen had figured out on her own. Her sister had always been so much smarter than she let on, but kept that mischievous and playful streak, which helped lull people into a false sense of superiority. And made it deceptively easy for Rana to forget how formidable she could be when she applied herself.

Laying down in the grass, and throwing an arm over her face to block out the rising sun, Rana’s mood swung from furious and bitter to remorseful and hollow and back again, swift and cutting like a pendulum. She wanted to turn around and go back. To grab Imoen by the arms and _make_ her understand that she regretted everything. That if she could go back in time, all the way to Candlekeep if need be, she would do so many things differently. She wouldn't have let Irenicus snuff out the good in her, the compassion, the lust for life that she'd once shared with her. She wanted to convince her that she'd try harder to fight Sarevok's pull. That she could do it, if Imoen would just look her in the eyes and tell her that she's forgiven.

The other part of her, though, roiled with outrage that Imoen dared to judge her for things she had no control over. That she felt entitled to Rana's secrets, as if she didn't keep her own. That Rana could be blamed, _at all,_ for being drawn to Sarevok. That it was somehow her fault for not being able to keep her balance when she constantly felt like she was being sucked under the waves. That whatever that pull was, the undertow that kept dragging her back to him, was unknown to her, and it was infuriating to be blamed for not being able to fight an enemy she could not see or understand. Not to mention the taint, and all of its demands.

“Did you mean what you said back in your room?” Sarevok asked, the sudden question making Rana jump. “About wanting to ascend?”

“I don't know,” she murmured distractedly.

“What do you mean _you don't know?!_ Why even say something like that if you aren't sure?”

Rana sat up and looked at him.

“Um, why are you being pissy about this? I said I was thinking about it. And if you pushed, I'd change my mind.”

He stared at her, his eyes softly glowing with this sudden outburst of uncalled for anger. There was something else, though, beneath the fury. If it were anyone other than him, she might call it fear.

His gaze dropped from hers for just a second, roaming over the exposed skin of her neck and collarbone before he abruptly turned away.

“What's gotten into you?”

“It's time to go,” he growled over his shoulder.

Huffing with irritation, Rana rose and went to retrieve her horse. He handed her the reigns without looking at her.

 _He regrets what he said,_ she suddenly realized. _Now that the alcohol is wearing off, maybe he doesn't mean the things he told me._

_“You're what's missing, Rana.”_

It was a good line, she'd give him that. One that had completely broken through the rest of the defenses she'd put up to keep him away.

_Wow, and I'll bet he thinks his words may change my mind anyway about ascending. Just when he was starting to give up on that ambition, I was finally giving it some thought. The arrogant prick really thinks he's the deciding factor on if I ascend or not. And being an asshole is his default setting._

_“I guess you decided to go big here and get involved with the king of assholes.”_

Imoen's earlier words rubbed salt into the still festering wounds caused by their conversation. As well as the ones opened by Sarevok's possible change of heart.

Swinging up into the saddle, she turned her mount southeast and put her heels to it, not bothering to wait for him.

The area they travelled through looked similar to the way they had come when heading for Tor Niedrig. Her, Sarevok, and Viconia. The brook they'd just stopped at reminded her of the one they'd camped at when she'd broken down after telling Sarevok about Tamoko. When he'd held her and told her he was sorry.

_Tamoko deserves a memorial just for having put up with his moody ass. I guess Cythandria deserves one, too. How either of them dealt with it and kept their sanity, let alone maintained any affection for him, is beyond me._

She ignored the fact that she'd followed exactly in their footsteps. That she'd let herself be fooled, and only the gods knew why.

Urging the horse faster, Rana tried to outpace the rage and the pain, replacing thoughts of what she'd lost in vain, things she'd thrown away only to wonder why they were gone, with thoughts of what she'd do to exorcise those things on Jorval.

She didn't need Imoen.

Or Sarevok.

All she needed was the taint, her bow and her swords, and a target.

She was going to keep telling herself that until she believed it.

* * *

 

_Sarevok_

Cursing Rana under his breath for perhaps the hundredth time that day, he finally began to close the distance she’d kept between them throughout the rest of their journey. She’d gotten far ahead of him, making him paranoid that if they were attacked, he wouldn't be able to help her. She should have known that, and yet she'd showed no signs of slowing until now. Now that dusk was finally settling and their surroundings began to tug, ever so gently, at his memories.

She'd been unusually quiet since they'd left her home, and judging by the way Imoen had looked at them as they walked out the door, he could likely guess why.

He'd meant to warn her.

He'd meant to say a lot of things. Like about Keldorn's revelations.

In a sense, though, he was glad he hadn't. He'd barely had time to come to grips with immortality, let alone the very real possibility that they've shared a soul all this time.

And now, they were heading home. Back to where it all started.

Alone.

That's what ate at him. Had they found out about Tor Albtraum a week ago, he wouldn't have any reservations about what he'd do there. Wouldn't care what Rana thought of him when she saw what he planned to do to Jorval. What he'd do to her, with no one alive for miles to interrupt them. But, because fate, or the gods, seemed to despise him, they were going _now._ Now that he finally understood why they'd always been so intertwined. Now that he'd come to want more than just her body. More than the scraps she could toss him if she became a goddess. Now that claiming her might mean more than just satisfying his desires.

And that scared him.

She'd decimated nearly every plan he'd ever conjured up, sometimes purely by accident, before his death. After his resurrection, it was the exact same. Except she seemed to have even less of a clue as to what she upended every time she was where he could see her. And even when she wasn't close by, it just meant she haunted his thoughts instead. And dreams.

It was maddening. He couldn't seem to get a grip on how any of this made him feel. One minute, he didn't care about anything other than being with her. The next, he berated himself for losing sight of his ambitions.

And if _he_ couldn't decide on what he wanted, then perhaps he shouldn't have snapped at _her_ for being just as lost as he was.

Rana reigned in ahead of him, forcing her horse to sit back on its haunches until it slid to a stop, before it spun around on its back hooves to face him. He barely stopped his own mount in time to keep from colliding with her.

“What the hell, woman!”

 _“Have you ever stopped to think about everything I've done for you?”_ She screamed at him, her eyes glowing almost bright enough to cover the tears. _“Have you?!”_

The agony in her voice kept him silent. She was at the breaking point, when he'd had no idea she was that close to it, though he should have. She'd been running from something all day, and it had finally caught up to her. And he was certain he hadn't helped matters at all either.

“I mean, I was willing to give up a piece of the soul that had been _stolen_ from me, just months after fighting to get it back! And what did you do? You took _half!_ And I _still_ let you come with me! And how did you show your gratitude? You've fought me every step of the way, questioning every decision, mocking every mistake, sneering at everyone that's loyal to me! Until you found out that I killed you before the memories came back. And that I mourned you! Hells, I was probably the _only_ one who mourned you! Irenicus had his sights set on _you,_ but he had to take me instead! Because you forced me to kill you! I used the Slayer, ready to go to the Abyss, so you could make it out of the hot springs! I let you get close to me, and you plotted to use that to your advantage! You, who knows better than anyone what I've been through! But you don't care, do you? No! You tell me what you think I want to hear, that you've started to realize you actually like having me around and might actually miss me if I ascend! And then you got scared that that might make me decide to stay, which means no power for you, right?! Imoen _knows_ and _hates_ me and it's all because of you! I tried to fight this, whatever _this_ is! Whatever reason we can't stay away from each other! But it wasn't enough! It wasn't enough for Imoen and it wasn't enough for you! Sarevok, _I don't have anything left._ Everything that's _me_ is gone. And I'm still expected to give more. Everyone expects me to _be_ more. But hey, as long as you all get what you want, who cares what it does to me, right? Who cares what _I_ want! _Who cares-”_

He was off his horse before the next tear could fall from her face. As he approached her, she bared her teeth and went for her swords, but he snatched her right out of her saddle before she could draw them. The urge to kiss her, to make her stop beating them both with her words, was stamped out by the fact that she'd probably bite him. Instead, he gripped her by her wrists and yanked her close, until they were face to face.

“Rana, listen to me-”

 _“I hate you,”_ she hissed, more tears falling, and each one ripped at him, just as they did when they were children.

“I know. And you have every right to.”

 _“'You think I concern myself with how you feel about me?’”_ She mocked, throwing at him what he'd said to her that day he'd saved her from those mercenaries. “You don't care how I feel about you or anything else, remember?”

_I have much to atone for._

“I'm sorry.”

She turned her face away at those words, squeezing her eyes shut and biting her lip while trying to twist her arms out of his grip.

“Don't you dare! We both know you don't mean it!”

“My _dhaer-”_

 _“Don't!_ Don't call me that!”

“But it's what you are. What you've always been. Since I brought you that blanket, you were my shadow. You never willingly left my side, nor would you allow me to leave yours, as if that were something I would have wanted. And I protected you, as best I could at the time. Rana… listen to me. When Gorion tried to wipe our memories, not even his spell could defeat us. Instead, it _binded_ us. When I took half your soul, part of it was already mine.”

She stopped struggling.

“What are you saying?” She whispered, her face still averted.

Slowly, in case she still tried to bolt, he released her wrists. She immediately wrapped her arms around her stomach. He lifted her chin so she'd look at him, not even trying to stop himself from brushing his thumb over the glistening trails left by her tears. When she finally opened her eyes, he spoke.

“You and I have shared a soul since we were children. When it was torn in two to bring me back, it made us both whole again. This is why we dreamed the same dreams years ago. This is why we've been unable to stay away from each other. This is why _this_ feels right.”

She took a step back, her eyes wide, and then abruptly turned and walked away. He let her go, and didn't follow. She took ten steps away from him before stopping and turning back around.

“How do you know this?”

“Keldorn figured it out. He told me just after he informed me that you may have made me immortal.”

This didn't seem to surprise her, but the dread in her eyes seemed to deepen.

“So, we've shared a soul since we were little. And because I'm elven, the merged result that now resides in you means you won't age. Did Keldorn also tell you that you and I may not be able to go further than a mile or two away from each other? Because of the strain it might place on our soul?”

“No, he didn't say anything about that… but it makes sense.”

Rana let out a bitter laugh.

“So, are you still unsure of whether or not you want me to ascend? I mean, I'm sure becoming a god will negate the distance thing.”

“That isn't a concern at the moment-”

“Sarevok. If I _don't_ ascend, this means we're stuck together. For a _long_ time.”

Which should be terrifying, but he felt strangely calm about this. Maybe it was because of the weariness and loneliness he could practically feel bleeding out of her end of their link. Or how close they were to the forest they'd called home when they could sneak out of the temple. Her tears didn't help either.

“We have vengeance to reap first. Then the rest of the bhaalspawn to kill. There's no point in dwelling on distant tomorrows until the prophecy has concluded.”

Rana studied him, obviously perplexed by his response. And likely confused at the lack of anger.

_That makes two of us._

“Why did you demand to know if I was serious about ascending? Why did you get mad when I said I didn't know?”

_Because I want you at my side more than I want you to become my goddess. It's taken me awhile to accept. I just need… time._

Which was something he obviously had in spades now.

“Because I'm a foolish male who doesn't know anything anymore,” he replied instead, moving past her to look out over the area.

She snorted and shook her head as he brushed by her.

“I'm not Viconia, you're gonna have to do better than that. Though I won't argue the foolish part.”

“It hasn't changed much.”

“Huh? What hasn't? I can't keep up with your mood swings _or_ your abrupt subject changes.”

“You're one to talk. And I'm referring to the temple,” he responded over his shoulder, then beckoned her to join him.

“You're right,” she said softly when she stood beside him. “It looks about the same.”

They gazed out from the small hill they found themselves upon and said nothing for a long moment. Both absorbing the sight of that place, a near-ruin with tattered, faded banners bearing Cyric’s sigil, which looked like they had been thrown up on the walls as an afterthought.

“I see Jorval’s devotion to the Prince of Lies is just as shallow and self-serving as it was to our father.”

“Indeed,” Rana replied, leaning into his side.

Looking down at her, he was reminded of the last time they'd been here. Of being helpless to stop Gorion from taking her from him. They would not be so easily parted again. He was certain of that much, at least.

“Are you ready?” He asked her.

She looked up at him, those bewitching whiskey colored eyes full of the same emotions he was feeling.

“Are _you?”_

* * *

 

_Ilyrana_

Rana turned down one of the dimly lit corridors of the labyrinthine temple, one hand trailing along the cold stone wall on her left, the sound of her nails rasping across it echoing louder than her footfalls.

She didn't walk fast.

She didn't need to.

Torches burning in sconces every several yards threw off just enough light to reflect on bloody handprints smeared along the walls, leading towards a warren of bedrooms. Hysterical sobs could be heard from up ahead, loud enough that Rana didn't even need her Infravision to locate the woman she'd been tracking.

Humming quietly to herself, she watched as the woman pitched forward at the end of the hall, slammed against a locked door, and slid to the ground, clutching the gut wound Rana had given her a while ago.

As she approached, the woman heard her humming, and her nails lightly dragging along the stone, and began trying to crawl down the corridor that branched off to the right. Rana slowed her pace even further.

The prayer being babbled out of the dying woman's mouth made Rana chuckle, and she found herself trying to hum along with it. She was no bard, by any means, but the result was musical and made her giddy.

A man's scream, somewhere off behind her, down another adjoining set of halls lined with sleeping cells, interrupted her song. Frowning, Rana paused to listen. When the scream abruptly ended with a wet, crunching sound, and Sarevok's ensuing laugh reached her ears, she turned back to the woman, smiling a little.

She was slowly trying to drag herself along the ground now, using one elbow and her knees, as she kept her other hand pressed against her belly. Pleas for mercy mingled with the prayer for aid from her god, who'd chosen to turn a deaf ear to the massacre occuring in his temple. Rana grinned at the irony of praying to the God of Murder not to be murdered.

Planting one foot on either side of the woman, Rana squatted down over the middle of the woman's back and grasped her forehead in one hand. Pulling her head back, forcing her spine to arch at what had to be a painful angle, Rana put her lips to the woman's ear.

“Where's your god now?”

The cut to her throat was quick, the spray of scarlet almost black in the low light.

Rising to her feet, Rana turned and began heading in the direction she'd heard Sarevok's laugh originate from.

Breaching the outer wall of this place had been almost too easy, as whoever had done the repairs on the holes left by the Harpers years ago had done a terrible job. Jorval’s “defenses” consisted of a handful of clerics and mages and a few people who knew which end to hold a sword, but nothing of how to properly wield one. The latter had been swiftly dealt with by Sarevok while Rana kept the more dangerous magic users pinned down with her bow.

At least, they were _supposed_ to be more dangerous. Funnily enough, each spell they tried to cast fizzled out in a shower of ineffectual sparks or a puff of smoke. It had quickly become apparent that Cyric had stripped them of their power. No one knew why, and it bothered Rana that their father's killer was neutering his own faithful, setting them up to be cut down. Her concern, though, had quickly been forgotten as they began moving systemically through the still-familiar temple, butchering every pleading, screaming, crying man or woman they came across.

The taint thrummed through her, practically purring with contentment at the blood spilled. Just like at the battle at the hot springs, she embraced it. And just like at the hot springs, they kept the halves of their soul in close contact, allowing them to sense if the other encountered any problems. So far, there had been nothing that required the other's intervention. There were certain side effects, however.

Experiencing the taint second hand, and Rana's enjoyment of it, reminded Sarevok of the power he'd once wielded. He was soon just as swept up in the high of it as she was. Feeding off each other's bloodlust, they became little better than beasts.

At the end of one of the halls, after passing by smashed in doors leading to now blood-stained bedrooms, where Sarevok had slaughtered those trying to hide or who had slept through their initial attack, Rana found him just as he was entering the last room. It had been unlocked, allowing him to walk in without waking the man and woman sleeping within.

Leaning against the doorframe, Rana watched him approach the bed, Sword of Chaos in hand. A movement in the corner of the room caught both their attention. Rana's eyes gleamed red as she used her Infravision to make out two children sitting up among a pile of blankets.

“Close your eyes. And cover your ears,” Sarevok whispered to the little ones, who stared up at him with wide, haunted eyes.

When the pair obeyed, he raised his sword above his head, then brought it down on the two sleeping adults, beheading both in one stroke.

Rana went and knelt before the children, reaching out to brush the back of her gloved hand across their dirty cheeks. When they lowered their hands from their ears and looked at her, she didn't know which enraged her more, the dazed, traumatized expressions, or the fear in their eyes that had been dulled by an acceptance of what they thought was to come. Beneath the grime, she couldn't tell their genders, and they were thin, but not quite starved.

These were the first children they had come across, but not necessarily the first they'd caught a glimpse of. Several times, when rounding a corner, or entering one of the septs, she'd caught sight of a small body or two scampering away. Like rats disturbed by a sudden sound, or roaches scattering at a sudden flare of light. It was an all too familiar scene. On cold nights, she and Sarevok had sought shelter inside the walls as well, seeking out a place devoid of adults, and occasionally scaring off other children who had found choice spots.

“Are you hungry?” She asked them gently before reaching into her pouch for some of the food she'd packed.

They stared at her for a moment, wary, distrusting. The sight of cheese and bread being offered, though, finally sparked some life into them. They took the food and immediately began to eat, glancing up at Rana and over at Sarevok every few bites, as if waiting for them to snatch the food back. It made her chest ache, and for the first time that night, Rana felt herself begin to shake the hold of the taint. Not because she wanted to, exactly, but because it couldn't hold sway when other softer, gentler emotions flared to life.

When the children finished the food, and drank their fill from her waterskin, they finally looked over at the bed. The blessed dark hid what lay there now, but she doubted it would be the first time they'd seen something like that.

“Your parents?” Sarevok asked them.

They nodded.

So these weren't part of the kidnapped ones.

“Do you have a home?” Rana inquired. “A place you lived before here?”

They seemed to struggle with the question, which made her think they had come here when they were too young to remember anything prior.

“Alright. Once we're finished here, we can take you someplace safe.”

No reaction. Either they didn't believe her, couldn't muster the energy to care, or had no idea what the word “safe” meant.

Rising to her feet, she removed her blood-stained gloves, stowing them in her bag, and reached a hand down to each of them. They looked up at her, then at Sarevok, before hesitantly slipping their tiny hands into hers and standing.

Sarevok led the way back to the main chapel, which had been empty when they entered it earlier, meaning no corpses for the children to see. Now, though, it was inhabited.

A group of children huddled together among the pews, tensing when they entered, readying themselves to bolt, but the sight of the two that Rana held onto made them hesitate.

There were eight of them, ranging from as young as about six, to the oldest who looked to be around twelve. They were in varying degrees of malnourishment and filth, but no worse than Rana remembered herself being when she had been here as a child.

As they approached, the oldest stepped forward, a wiry boy with dirty blonde hair and green eyes that burned with rage. He was the only one among them who wasn't afraid, likely because he'd seen so much by now that the dark no longer held any mysteries. He knew what the worst that could happen was. The others shrank back behind the boy, their fear palpable as they stared, owl-eyed, at the bhaalspawn.

Rana could only imagine what she, and Sarevok, looked like to them. She'd worn her black dragonscale armor, anticipating close quarter combat. And she was soaked in blood, could feel it crusted in her hair. Sarevok would have been intimidating even unarmed and sans armor, but he wore his heavy plate, and the Sword of Chaos, unsheathed, and dripping ichor, drew every eye in the room. She knew their eyes both gleamed golden.

The boy glanced between the children holding Rana's hands and Sarevok, shifting his weight uncertainly as he tried to think of what to do. When one of the girls huddling behind him broke away from the others and ran to him, clutching his arm and pulling to make him back away, that rage returned tenfold. Holding her firmly behind him with one arm, he snarled at the bhaalspawn and crouched, ready to spring if they took another step closer. Ready to fight, and die, to protect the girl that clung to him.

They stopped. The sight brought tears to her eyes.

“Look familiar?” Sarevok asked her, his voice a little forced.

She looked up at him, unable to hide the well of emotion that the sight of the boy and the girl had tapped into. He understood, and when he raised a gauntleted hand to run the back of one finger down her cheek, she leaned into him, losing the fight against the painful beauty of her memories of them together when they were once as these children are.

Still holding her gaze, Sarevok sheathed his sword, then withdrew a pouch of supplies from his bag of holding and tossed it at the boy's feet. Reluctantly, he looked away from her to the younger pair.

“We seek the High Priest, Jorval.”

They already knew where the man was likely hiding, but by asking that question, they told the boy why they were there.

“Are you going to kill him?” The boy asked after he'd snatched up the bag and passed it to the girl, who peaked out at them from beneath his arm.

“Yes,” Rana replied.

The girl began rifling through the bag, pulling out an apple that she sank her teeth into, holding it in her mouth, before passing the rest back to the other children. The boy glanced behind him, noting the contents, before looking back at Sarevok, his stance relaxing slightly, but his hold on the girl never slackened.

“He'll be in his room at this hour. Just go down-”

“We know where it's at,” Sarevok interrupted.

“We've been here before,” Rana added.

The boy looked at the two of them, and seemed to be reassessing his initial impression. She watched him study the way Sarevok stood beside, but just a fraction in front, of her.

“There's a dwarf being held somewhere, if he's still alive,” the boy said after a moment. “Said he was from some town up north. That he'd help us get there if we helped him escape. We couldn't before.”

“If he lives, we'll find him and he can take you to the town. If he's dead, we'll take you there once we've finished with Jorval.”

The boy nodded, and gave a reassuring smile to the girl, whose mouth was so stuffed with food that she could only manage a muffled sound and a wink.

“I'll take them,” the boy motioned to the two Rana held.

She released their hands and they went to the join the rest, glancing back at Rana, which made her turn her back to them and begin heading towards Jorval’s private chambers.

Letting them go hurt. Seeing them look back at her hurt even more. She couldn't afford to be weak right now. They weren't safe while that bastard still drew breath. Killing him was what they needed. She wasn't safe to be around, and the longer she lingered, the more likely they would fall to harm. Somehow. Regardless of how much she wanted otherwise.

_“You both poison everyone around you and everything you touch.”_

Imoen was right. The harder she fought for the children, the quicker she'd be delivering them to some worse fate. Tears pricked her eyes, and she angrily wiped them away before donning her gloves again.

“Protect her,” she heard Sarevok say softly, and she stopped, looking back over her shoulder to see him talking to the boy.

“Always,” the boy replied quietly, then nodded at Rana. “And you her.”

More tears fell as she heard Sarevok's response, but it made the bitterness that clung to her begin to loosen its grip.

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also wasn't expecting Sarevok to really start applying that +2 wisdom he earned himself last chapter. Anyway, back to finishing Part 2...


	25. Homecoming Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 took a piece of my soul to write. I've been really emotional lately, and it likely shows. Not even gonna lie, I bawled my eyes out while writing most of this. Being a woman sucks sometimes. Anyway, it's done. And I can begin recovering from the heartbreak of it all. Okay, I may be acting a tad bit dramatic, but it hurts so good.  
> I hope it was worth this close to a year long wait. This was by far the most intense thing I've ever written.

** Chapter 25: Homecoming Part 2 **

 

_Ilyrana_

 

 "The hell are ye?”

The dwarf was still alive, in bad shape, covered in bruises both fresh and old, but still _very_ much alive.

“We're-”

“Doesna matter. Yer getting me out o’ this godsdamned prison so I don't care much who ye are.”

Rana finished picking the lock on his cell and stepped back so Sarevok could toss a healing potion inside.

“Much obliged,” the dwarf growled, chugging the entire bottle. “Tastes like orc piss if ya ask me, but I guess ye didna ask, did ye? Now, I suppose the mayor sent ye. ‘Bout blasted time. I've been stuck in this shit hole for I don't know how long and me and him are goona have words, ye hear?”

“The mayor didn't-”

“Hey, you two seen them kids anywhere? Scrawny things they are. Them’s the ones been getting napped right outta Tor Niedrig. Mayor sent me to find them after that shady little gnome shown up in town, spoutin’ off praises to the Mad God.”

“Wait, what gnome? Do you mean-”

“Aye, Tiax. That's his name. Right nutter that one. Anyway, followed him down here where he squared off with this Jorval and he got himself runt right outta the temple. Right mean bastard that human is. That gnome took Jorval's best warriors with him though, and a few o’ them cultists. Prolly how you two got in. Not so much muscle defending this place now.”

“What happened to-”

“Ach, I'm ready to get outta here. Don't have no more time to stand around listenin’ to more o' yer yappin’. I'm goona find them kids and go home. If ye make it back before us, tell the mayor I'm comin’ fer him and he owes me big time, ye hear?”

Rana watched the dwarf finish wagging a finger at Sarevok's waist in an attempt to be threatening, a somewhat baffled look on her face. Then, muttering about yappy humans and useless elves, he strode off, heading toward the main chapel, and the children.

Sarevok looked at her, a similar expression of irritated bewilderment on his face.

“You talk too much,” she told him.

“Apparently,” he agreed sarcastically.

The pair headed further into the temple. Rana shook her head at the thought of Tiax having come through here.

_Small world._

At least he'd made it easy for them to breach this place. And he wasn't still here so she wouldn't have to listen to him talk in the third person.

_Strange, though, that Jorval was able to fend him off, only to have his best fighters follow the crazed gnome instead. And what was left couldn't get a single spell off against us._

Two heavy wooden doors waited at the end of the short hallway, and Rana put away her growing unease. Stopping before them, she began lightly running her hands over the wood, feeling for any traces of magical traps. There were two, one on each door, and she disabled both before leaning in to listen for any sounds inside. All she heard were faint snores.

No one had been able to get down here to notify the High Priest of their attack. And his god seemed to care even less about helping him.

Slipping a dagger up the slit between the doors, she slid it up until it clicked against a deadbolt. She could pick the lock on the handles easy enough, but she wouldn't be able to pick this.

“All yours,” she whispered to Sarevok, then backed away to give him some room.

Sliding his sword out of its sheath across his back, he took two steps back. As he adjusted his stance, he glanced back at her, and she put away her dagger in favor of her short swords. Checking to make sure the poison she'd applied to them was still evenly coated, she nodded at him.

Sarevok took two long steps forward, bringing his sword up as he went, then brought it crashing down in a brutal slash across both doors. The sound was deafening, as if the doors had been blasted off their hinges by the force behind the stroke rather than the blade itself.

They entered what appeared to be a sitting room. Moldering bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes that had seen better days. The furniture, though, was pristine, and of expensive quality. Another set of doors were located opposite them, and they burst open right as Rana noticed them.

Jorval stumbled into the room, obviously having jumped out of bed at the sound of the doors being blown off their hinges and crashing into his sitting room.

He had been old the last time they'd laid eyes on him, and time had not been good to him. His white hair was long and greasy, wild from sleep. He had no facial hair. His eyes were a blue so pale they almost matched his hair. He'd thrown on a frayed gray robe that was stained with all manner of things.

The High Priest saw Sarevok first, and after a split second of terrified confusion, he raised his hands and snarled out a spell. Sarevok laughed when nothing happened.

“I remember you being weak and incompetent, only able to hold sway over the most deranged and soft-headed, but I assumed you developed _something_ over the years. How disappointing.”

Rana began slipping around the edge of the room, slowly circling to position herself behind Jorval. He noticed her.

“Alianna?” He croaked.

Sarevok advanced on him, drawing the man's attention back to him, allowing Rana to continue moving. Jorval lunged towards a nearby bookshelf, tore some of the books down, and produced a wand from some small hidden spot behind the texts. A cloud of freezing air shot toward Sarevok, but he merely raised the Sword of Chaos before him. When it hit the blade, ice spread across the dark steel, enveloping it in a coat of frost, before immediately melting and sloughing to the floor.

_“What do you want, Deathbringer?!”_

“Your life, old man.”

“Come and take it then!” Jorval screamed, raising his arm to point at Sarevok, the enchanted ring on one of his fingers glowing white before shooting forward, materializing into a ball of blame as it launched at Sarevok.

Ducking behind one of the bookshelves, Sarevok narrowly avoided the blast, and when the fireball exploded down the hall behind them, the temple shook from the impact.

While his magic was disabled, it appeared he could still use magical tools, like the wand and the ring.

Rana was almost in position now, if Sarevok could just keep him distracted a few seconds longer.

Gripping at a pendant around his neck, Jorval muttered the words that would invoke its power, then began to laugh as five copies of himself appeared around him. All six of the Jorvals turned their heads to look at Rana, their yellowed teeth fixed in an insane grin, and she froze at the unnerving sight.

“You look so much like your mother, Ilyrana. I almost thought it was her come back from the dead. She was such a beauty, and you held such promise of surpassing her in that regard, but those unsightly scars…”

Jorval frowned at the three marks on her neck from the gibberling, the only scars that weren't covered by her armor.

“Ah well, you're too old for my tastes now anyway,” he finished, his voice echoing eerily as the illusions mimicked his words, each one speaking just a beat too fast or too slow.

Hissing with fury at the reminder of the priest’s perverse appetites, Rana spun her swords and lunged at the closest mirror image, cutting across it's abdomen in what would have spilled the man's innards if it were the real Jorval. Instead, it merely faded, leaving five of them now, the real one and four fakes.

A blast from the wand connected with her chest, sending her flying back into a bookshelf before falling heavily to the ground, the ice making her armor burn as if it were searing hot rather than intensely cold. It was a feeling she was all too familiar with thanks to Irenicus. She screamed as she tried to tear the dragonscale off, forgetting in her pain and terror that her armor should be highly resistant to frost magic.

 _“Rana it's not real!”_ Sarevok roared, sounding far away, his voice echoing when it shouldn't in such a small room. _“Illusion is his power!”_

Flinging her chest armor away from her, Rana tried to rise, gasping for air despite the agony of trying to breathe through the cold seeping past the long sleeved shirt she'd worn beneath, and into her skin and then vital organs. It wasn't slowing, and it felt like her lungs would seize up, each panicked gasp making the cold more intense, more real.

“Ilyrana, darling, what ails you?”

Her mother's voice.

Looking up, she saw her. Alianna. Wearing a  simple crimson gown, her long midnight black hair falling freely down her back almost to her knees, she looked like a Deva.

“M-mother?”

“Shhh daughter, I'm here. We'll defeat him together, you and I,” Alianna murmured soothingly, kneeling before her to brush a strand of hair out of Rana's face.

Her touch seemed to chase away the chill, and Rana breathed deeply as warmth returned to her body.

_“Rana!”_

There was a screech of steel sliding across what sounded like polished stone that nearly drowned out Sarevok's voice.

_“Sarevok?!”_

Looking wildly around the room, Rana couldn't see him. Or Jorval and his mirror images.

“ _Sarevok, where are you?!”_

“Fear not, child,” Alianna whispered, drawing Rana's attention back to her. “He will not harm us ever again. This time, it is _I_ who will save _you._ This time, you won't have to watch your mother die to that monster.”

“What are you talking about? Jorval didn't kill you, Sarevok…” Her voice trailed off as she realized what her mother was saying. “Wait! Sarevok killed you to save me from you! I'm not helping you fight him!”

Rana staggered to her feet and then stumbled away from her mother, her mind trying to comprehend what was happening.

“He killed me because he could not bear to share you with another. To have you love anyone other than himself. Such violent possessiveness is a weakness of his kind. It's why I tried to keep you away from him. No pure elven daughter of mine, and of Our Lord Bhaal, will belong to a human brute.”

“You tried to give me to Jorval! Knowing what he'd do to me!” Rana cried, backing away further when her mother reached for her.

“No, child. That's what Sarevok _wanted_ you to believe, because he could not stand the thought of another male anywhere near you. I was trying to protect you, by bringing you under the personal protection of the High Priest. He was so jealous that he fought me every time I tried to get you away from him.”

_“Damnit, Rana, fight it! Alianna isn't real! It's Jorval! He's-”_

His voice cut off in a grunt of pain, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the floor.

“It's almost done, Ilyrana. A few more moments and it will all be over. You'll be free of him at last.”

Panic seized her as she realized Sarevok was dying, somewhere close by, but she couldn't see him. Reaching out with her soul, she snatched at his half, holding onto it like an anchor, using their bond to break through the illusions.

 _“What are you doing?”_ Alianna hissed, her voice cracking, her vivid yellow eyes shifting to pale blue and back again. “Stop it, Ilyrana. Let him go. We can be together again once he's gone.”

She felt his wounds, and his rage. It was his fear, though, that began to unravel the room around her. Not fear for himself. Death no longer held any surprises for him. It was his fear for _her._

 _I will not lose you again,_ she whispered through the link, repeating the words he'd told her that night she nearly took her own life to spare him, and the others, from the Slayer.

_Rana… none of this is real. You have to fight it!_

Alianna, her beautiful face contorted in fury, lunged at her, a dagger materializing in her hand, aimed for her throat. Rana caught her wrist, the end of the blade stopping just inches short of its mark. Drawing strength from the taint, she wrenched the knife from her mother's hand, then spun the woman around, pulling her back against her chest, and drew the steel across her throat.

Her mother vanished. Along with the sitting room.

She stood in the middle of a large room with marveled pillars, a torch burning in a sconce attached to each one, and a ceiling so high it was shrouded in shadow. Sarevok knelt yards away, three smoking holes in his breastplate, and each one pouring blood.

Eyes darting to each shadow, searching for Jorval and more of his illusions, she ran to him. Falling to her knees beside him, she set her swords down to begin rummaging in her bag for a healing potion.

“That spell… that he cast… that I thought hadn't worked. It did something… allows him to read our minds… and take what he finds to create… and reinforce his illusions.”

“There's only three mirror images left. Anything that pops up, we kill it,” Rana said, then cursed when she couldn't find the potion.

Hysterical laughter echoed around the room, and Rana grabbed up her swords before rising, slowly turning in a circle as she searched for Jorval.

Sarevok painfully pushed to his feet, his breathing labored from his injuries.

“I can't find a potion, don't you have some in your bag?” She asked him without turning to look at him, afraid to take her eyes off of their surroundings.

“Yeah, give me a minute.”

A movement around one of the pillars had her tensing, preparing for another assault. Her Infravision was useless, the number and the power of the illusions interfering with its effectiveness.

The sound of a foot sliding across the floor had her turning, flipping one of her short swords in the air as she moved. Catching the end of the blade, she threw the sword, end over end, as she completed the turn. It sank into Jorval’s chest as he was coming up behind them.

Watching him drop to his knees, clutching the hilt of her sword, his eyes wide with disbelief, was a sight she was sure would stay with her forever.

“Got you,” she whispered, triumph burning in her eyes as she went to stand before him.

“Careful, little one. It could be one of the illusions.”

“No, it didn't disappear,” she replied over her shoulder, watching the priest gasp and cough up blood. “I got him.”

Sarevok's arm wrapped around her stomach from behind, and he kissed the top of her head when he gently pulled her back against him.

“It's over then,” he whispered into her hair.

“Yes. It is.”

_“NOOOOOO!”_

Rana went still. That sudden scream, filled with agony, and denial, had come from far across the room. And it was from Sarevok.

“What-”

The arm around her tightened, a low chuckle coming from the man behind her.

“Still so easy to fool, godchild,” Irenicus murmured, his lips brushing the tip of her ear.

Rana reversed the remaining sword in her hand and shoved it into the mage’s belly. Tearing away from him, she took up her other sword that lay on the ground, now that the mirror image of Jorval on his knees had disappeared. Spinning around, her chest heaving as fear and revulsion sent her spiralling close to madness, she watched the illusion of her torturer laugh before fading away.

Sarevok's broken voice reached through the panic, as he repeated her name over and over again. The raw pain in each iteration had her moving almost before she'd decided to.

She had just taken out two more of the mirror images. Which left one more.

Heading towards the sound, she prayed she'd see Jorval, or her mother again. Fuck, even another Irenicus. Anything but Sarevok, if it wasn't the real him. She couldn't take that again. Couldn't take not trusting her eyes.

Coming around one of the pillars, she saw him on his knees, a woman gathered in his arms. As she drew closer, she realized it was _her._ There was a gaping hole in her belly, and the Sword of Chaos lay bloody beside him.

_He thinks he killed me…_

“Sarevok, wait, that's not-”

His head snapped up at the sound of her voice, his eyes glowing almost white.

 _“I'll kill you,”_ he hissed at her, gently lowering the dead Rana to the floor. “I'll spend the rest of my immortal life making you beg me to end you. And I'll deny you. Until I've carved her name into every inch of your skin a hundred times over.”

_Oh, fuck._

“Sarevok, listen to me, it's another illusion. Just… wait a second. Watch, it'll disappear.”

There was a flicker of hope, of yearning, that she was telling the truth. That she was real. They both looked down at the fake Rana, and she tried to steady herself after everything she'd seen. It was all too much. And seeing herself dead, even knowing it wasn't real, was extremely disconcerting.

This would haunt her.

Haunt them both.

“See!” She exclaimed, when the body briefly began to glow.

But her relief was short lived.

A sick, helpless feeling had her taking a step away, her eyes filling with tears, when the body didn't disappear. When it instead turned into golden ash.

 _“Nooo,”_ she moaned. “Sarevok, please, it's not real! Jorval’s making you think that's the real me! I know what it looks like, _but that's not me!_ Please, my _aegisess-”_

He surged to his feet, bringing the Sword of Chaos up with him, and advanced on her.

 _Ah, gods, no... Please, don't do this to me. I can't... I can't hurt him. I can't_ kill _him!_

“Sarevok…” she whispered through the tears, backing away from him. “Please… don't do this.”

With an agonized roar he covered the last few yards between them, bringing his sword, the sword she'd returned to him around this time last night, down on her. She danced out of range, gripping her weapons hard enough that her hands went numb, but unable to raise them against him.

 _“Fucking fight me, you coward!”_ He shouted when she avoided another strike. _“Drop the illusion and fight me!”_

When he rushed her, she had no choice but to cross her swords and parry the ensuing slash, gritting her teeth when the blow nearly jarred her swords from her hands. She couldn't win against him. The taint would help even the odds, but it would only prolong the inevitable. She couldn't, _wouldn't,_ strike against him.

_This is it then. It ends where it began._

Backstepping, parrying, narrowly ducking an overhead swing, she did all she could just to stay alive. At one point, when darting behind a pillar to catch her breath, she caught sight of Jorval, leaning against another pillar opposite her. His arms were folded across his chest, and he watched the fight with obvious sadistic glee.

_“Sarevok, look! It's Jorval! Just there! LOOK, DAMN YOU!”_

But he didn't look. Didn't hear a word she said as he kept coming at her, wearing her down with his greater strength. With his fierce desire to end who he thought was responsible for Rana's death.

Bringing up her swords a half second too slow, not having time to brace for her parry, Sarevok knocked her off her feet, sending her sliding across the floor, one of her swords spinning over the polished surface of the marble beneath her and well out of her reach.

Desperately trying to get to her feet, knowing it was already over, she scrambled away from him, pleading with him to stop.

His free hand shot out and wrapped around her throat, cutting off her words. Effortlessly, he lifted her and slammed her back against a column, holding her off her feet, as he drew his sword back. Clawing futilely at his gauntleted hand, she played the last card she held.

In one last act of desperation, she shoved an image into his mind with their soul. She hoped it worked, as there seemed to be a fog around his half. She didn't know, exactly, what she showed him. What he saw. But whatever it was made him pause. For just a second. Enough time for her to commit his face to memory, one last time, before she closed her eyes, and waited for the killing blow.

It didn't come.

The hand at her throat released her, and she fell heavily to the ground, her ankles screaming in pain as she somehow managed to keep from dropping to her knees. Leaning back against the pillar, she gasped for air.

Sarevok's fist connected with the column. Right beside her head, crumbling a portion of it, chips of marble falling down over her shoulder. She went still, staring up at him as the glow of his eyes faded to almost nothing.

“Damn you,” he whispered, his sword clanging loudly as it hit the floor, and he placed his other hand on the opposite side of her head. “I know you're not real… but I still can't do it.”

Hanging his head, and leaning over her, he shut his eyes, as if preparing to die. Slowly, her heart aching so much she thought it would stop working altogether, she reached for him. His entire body quaked when her fingers brushed his cheek, but he didn't move.

“Sarevok…”

Sliding closer to him, she buried her face into the crook of his neck, clutching at his armor, needing him to feel that she was real. The sound of the lethal tips of his gauntlets goring into the column made her shiver, but she didn't draw away.

“I can't see her like that again. I don't know what's real. But I can't watch her turn to ash another time,” he murmured, sounding broken and defeated. “You win, Jorval. Finish it.”

Sobbing, she pulled away from him, needing to make him understand. Taking his face in her hands, she placed a kiss on his lips, trying to reach him through their soul, through the haze of nothing that was all she could feel on his end.

_It's me. Please, Sarevok, you have to believe me. I'm alive. It's me. Please, help me fight for us._

His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him, as he returned the kiss, a pained sound rumbling from his chest.

“Please, my _aegisess,_ I need you. _Please…”_ her voice trailed off as he took her mouth again, all but crushing her against his chest, and it still wasn't close enough. Would never be close enough.

“Please…”

* * *

 

 

_Moments earlier…_

 

_Sarevok_

Rieltar Anchev stepped out of the shadows, that small, cruel smile on his lips. Sarevok froze at the sight of him.

“Look at you, son, still so sentimental, even after all the times I tried to beat it out of you.”

“I'm not your son!” Sarevok snarled, raising his sword. “Gods, I'm going to enjoy killing you a second time. Once just wasn't enough. I don't even care that you're not real.”

The man _tsked_ disapprovingly.

“Even at the expense of your sister? Even now, she's been fooled to believe the two of you have won. Thinks it’s _you_ who’s holding her.”

That thought made him seethe, even if it was likely a lie. Still, just to be safe…

He reached for her half of their soul, felt her relief at his touch, and that she was coming to him.

“You always were a poor liar, _father,”_ he sneered.

“Was I? Hmm I can't recall ever lying to you. I remember calling you entitled, ungrateful, disloyal. All of which was true. Just like your mother. That whore couldn't just appreciate what I gave to her-”

_“Don't you dare speak of her!”_

He lunged, bringing his sword down in a devastating arch that would have cut diagonally through the illusion. It vanished just before he connected, only to reappear a ways away, hidden in shadow.

“Come now, Sarevok, we both know your mother deserved what I did to her. At least, I think she did. In all honesty, I can't seem to remember what it was. Ah well, it was likely _something_ damning, I'm sure. Still, it felt good to watch the light leave her eyes. But then, you'd know all about that pleasure wouldn't you, bhaalspawn?”

His sword whistled through the air, parting shadows, but no flesh or illusion.

_“Face me, coward!”_

Sweeping his gaze across the room, he searched for where the bastard would pop up again. Rana brushed his soul, alerting him that she neared, and he turned to the direction he felt her coming from. Once more, the shadows stirred, and his father's voice emanated from them, gloating over garrotting his step mother. He didn't hesitate, just lashed out with all his strength, wanting to watch that piece of shit die once more.

His eyes widened in horror as a sudden gust of air stirred the nearest torch, the light flaring bright enough to see Rana just before him. With the Sword of Chaos impaled in her stomach.

_Gods, no…_

_“NOOOOOO!”_

Pulling the sword out, and dropping it to the ground, he caught her as she fell against him, sinking to his knees with her in his arms.

“No… Rana, I… I didn't know it was you. I thought… Rieltar… ah, gods, Rana, hold on!”

Quickly he searched in his bag with one hand for a healing potion, his heart hammering harder and faster as he felt her cough and rasp out his name.

“Hold on, baby…”

A shudder ran through her body, and she went limp against him.

“Rana?”

He drew back enough to look at her face. Her eyes were distant. Unseeing. The amber lusterless without the woman inside to give them life.

A pain, unlike anything he'd ever felt, burned into his chest as he felt her half of their soul begin to slip away, intangible, disconnected from the whole. He closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers, clutching her close, as if to try and hold her to her body.

“Don't leave me, Rana… not now. Not after I…”

It was too late.

She was gone.

The pain doubled… then tripled… piercing and searing and tearing, it felt like he was being eaten alive, from the inside out. It would kill him. He was sure of it. And right now, he welcomed that fact.

“Sarevok, wait, that's not-”

That pain flared even brighter at the sound of her voice, and he jerked his head up to see her standing a few yards away, her eyes red with unshed tears.

 _“I'll kill you,”_ he hissed at Jorval's illusion, gently lowering Rana’s body to the floor. “I'll spend the rest of my immortal life making you beg me to end you. And I'll deny you. Until I've carved her name into every inch of your skin a hundred times over.”

“Sarevok, listen to me, it's another illusion. Just… wait a second. Watch, it'll disappear.”

He didn't want to hope. Didn't want to feel, even for a second, that he was wrong, only to be fooled. It would be like watching her die a second time. He couldn't stop himself from looking down at her, though. For some reason, looking at the living, breathing, lifelike illusion was more painful than looking at the dead woman lying before him. Hope was far deadlier than anything else in this room.

When her body began to glow, so did the hope.

 _Disappear. Be an illusion. Let_ that _Rana, that_ living _Rana be the real one. Please…_

Rana's body turned into ash.

As did his sanity.

The next several moments were disjointed, as if he kept blacking out, and then watching parts of it from somewhere outside of himself. He didn't feel real. He didn't feel much of anything. Just that pain that had become this dull ache. Each throb of it seemed to disconnect him a little bit more.

A memory suddenly bubbled up in his mind. A not so distant one. It was when he and Rana were standing together, watching the boy ready himself to square off against two powerful bhaalspawn, if that's what it would take to protect the girl he loved. That sight had moved him, but that wasn't what the memory was focused on. It was the look in Rana's eyes as she gazed up at him. It was, he realized, perhaps the first time she'd ever looked at him with all of her shields down. Without hiding anything she was feeling.

The memory of what he saw in those fathomless depths made him weak. He released his hold on the illusion’s throat, only just now realizing he'd been about to choke the false life from it.

He couldn't do it. He'd killed her once, he couldn't do it again. Even a fake. The fact that it was a fake, that those tears weren't real, but had the same effect as if they were, made him lash out, putting his fist through the column, relishing the shockwave of pain it sent up his arm.

He'd let it kill him. Let Jorval win. He didn't care. Nothing mattered now. He was sure this agony would kill him anyway if the priest didn't.

The illusion touched him, and the warmth of its hand pained him even further. When it buried its face in his neck, and he felt the tears against his skin, he thought about just pretending it was really her.

It pulled away, and he somehow felt even more hollow than before. But then he felt its lips against his own, and they felt so much like hers that he caved. He'd let himself savor this dream as long as it lasted.

_It's me. Please, Sarevok, you have to believe me. I'm alive. It's me. Please, help me fight for us._

Her voice rang out inside his head, pleading.

He groaned, and pulled her to him. The smell of her, orchids and blood, made his body respond as if it were really her.

“Please, my _aegisess,_ I need you. _Please…”_

The taste of her drove him mad. And when she parted her lips, and he felt her tongue slip against his own, and heard that little moan she always gave when they kissed, something inside him shifted. The pain was still there, but it had changed.

He needed her closer. Needed to feel her skin against his. Needed as much as he could get before the killing blow was struck and he was no more.

Pulling her closer still, he grieved that it still wasn't close enough. Would never be close enough.

“Please…” he whispered against her lips. “Please be real…”

* * *

 

 

_Ilyrana_

That fuzzy gray bank of mist that clouded their connection began to fade. At first, she'd thought it was Jorval's misleading magic. Now, she wasn't so sure.

That he'd tampered somehow with their soul link, she was certain. It made sense that the soul could be fooled along with physical perceptions, and that of the mind and heart. What was puzzling, though, was how distant Sarevok felt to her, despite how close they were. Like he was dying. Like he was bleeding out but she could see no wounds.

“And you sneer at _me_ for my tastes,” Jorval cackled from somewhere among the columns. “At least _I_ don't carry on incestuous relations.”

Sarevok pulled away from her, searching for the priest, before he looked down at her, his expression so torn, the longing so palpable, that it made the tears start up again.

“Rana…? Is this the real you?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “He created five mirror images. The first I destroyed right after they manifested. The second was my mother. The third was one of him, and I thought it was the real one. The fourth started out as you, before turning into… Irenicus. The fifth was me.”

She could tell he wanted to believe her, but he couldn't trust this completely. If they walked away from this battle, with Jorval dead, this fight would stay with them for many years to come. And she didn't think Sarevok would be the same. She just hoped she was wrong.

A roar of sound had them both turning, taking up their weapons as they did. A fireball hurtled toward them, and they dove to the ground to avoid it. It slammed into the pillar they'd just been standing in front of, and between the explosion and Sarevok's fist, the column crumbled and began to collapse.

Sarevok dragged her to her feet and shoved her forward, both of them narrowly avoiding being crushed by the debris.

Another massive fireball formed from the shadows and whistled toward them. This time, they were able to note where it came from before moving out of the way.

When Rana shot back to her feet, she tore over the ground toward the shadows.

“Rana, wait!”

No, no more waiting. She didn't know if he could summon more illusions. Items like his necklace could usually only work once per day, but that spell he'd cast to see into their minds meant he was well versed in this kind of manipulation. Assuming, that is, that the fake Sarevok had been speaking the truth.

She felt the drawing of power just a second before the fireball formed from the black a few yards away, and she was able to call out a warning to Sarevok while she ducked behind a pillar.

As she waited for the projectile to pass, she wondered if this very room was real. If it was just another illusion, or if the sitting room had been the actual fake. This led her to guess how Jorval had survived the Harper raid all those years ago. He hadn't been an exceptionally powerful man, or charismatic, and his lip service to whatever god he pretended to serve could be seen through even when she was a child. Now, she finally began to understand how he'd managed to obtain this kind of position. How he'd survived over the years. How he could have run off Tiax, who, while insane, was deceptively powerful in his own right. She hadn't worked with the gnome, but just meeting him had left a strong impression on her.

“Have you ever wondered how your mother came to lose her mind, my Ilyrana?” Jorval's voice rang out from not too far away. “She wanted so much to believe that Bhaal favored her above all the other women. And, perhaps he did! We'll never know, will we? _She_ knew, though. Maybe. Off and on. She was most fun, and _easy,_ to twist.”

Rana froze, his words sinking into her heart.

_That bastard… that FUCKING BASTARD!_

Silently, she ghosted from shadow to shadow, slowly making her way toward him.

“Ah, my poor, sweet Alianna,” Gorion's voice rang out, nearly making her stumble. “Don't listen to him, my child. Bhaal raped your mother. That's what drove her mad.”

“No, Bhaal loved me,” Alianna cried. “Loved us both, daughter!”

“Methinks they're both wrong,” Jorval laughed. “She tried so many times to earn his favor, by attempting to bring you before me. In the end, there was little left of her. Her mind shattered beneath the weight of all the pretty little illusions I spun for her.”

He was leaning against a column, holding the pendant in the palm of one hand and stroking it with the long fingers of his other. Suddenly he froze, then slowly raised his eyes to her, delight flashing in those pale orbs.

“Sorry, child, but you're in _my_ kingdom. You cannot sneak up on me here. In my domain, _I am god!”_

His form bled into the shadows, only to be replaced by Gorion.

After all these years, and everything he'd wrought against them, seeing his face sent a pang of longing through her. That childlike need for the comfort of a parent, the approval, the pride. She'd thought she'd killed that part of her.

“My child, forgive me. I knew not what I did,” Gorion whispered mournfully.

_This isn't real. He's dead. Strike him down, he's already dead. Just another illusion. Just more lies._

“When I came upon you during the raid… I saw only what Jorval wanted me to see. What _I_ wanted to see. For so long, I told myself that Bhaal _must_ have raped your mother. That she _never_ would have allowed herself to be seduced by the Lord of Murder. I could not bear the thought of her willingly giving herself to him. Willingly taking his seed into her.”

Rana couldn't move. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She held her breath, though she didn't realize it. Sarevok stepped up beside her, sword drawn, and he looked just as torn as she did. If it was really him. She didn't know anything anymore.

“I saw her trying to save you from the boy. Even as young as he was, he looked just as evil as his father. He killed her before I could reach the two of you. Seeing her die… I could not see the reality of what was actually happening. I couldn't see that _he_ was trying to protect you from _her._ Because if that were true, it meant I was wrong about Alianna. It meant our love had been false.”

“He's lying…” Sarevok whispered, but she could hear the doubt laced in his voice.

“Years later, I could never forgive myself what I did to you, Sarevok. When I saw you in Candlekeep, reading Alaundo's Prophecy, I got a glimpse of your eyes before you turned away, but it was enough. I knew it was you. And I knew it was only a matter of time before you saw Ilyrana. And that you'd come for her.”

Rana closed her eyes, letting the tears that didn't seem to cease anymore slide down her cheeks.

That day she barrelled into him… when she was running from Winthrop with the stolen muffins. That was the day Gorion was speaking of.

“Forgive me,” Gorion whispered, his image blurring momentarily. “I didn't think I could ever right that wrong. Until you ambushed us while we fled Candlekeep. My death may have helped begin unravelling your memories. I do not know. But dying may have helped begin atoning for what I'd done. What Jorval had fooled me into doing. For what I fooled myself into seeing.”

The shadows around them darkened, and Gorion vanished. The light of the torches snuffed out, one by one, until nothing but black remained. Nothing but Jorval's insane laughter.

Rana reached for Sarevok, with her hand and her soul, and he grabbed onto her with both, his grip like steel.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Jorval whispered all around them. “The dark. Anything can be shaped from it. Anything can be hidden in it. I wish I could have known of your coming, bhaalspawn. I could have prepared so much more to show you. You both so appreciate my gifts, more than the others did. Your _need_ to believe what you're seeing makes it impossible for you to see through what isn't there. To see the lies woven into the foundation of the truths. I almost wish you didn't have to die. I could play with the two of you _forever._ That is, if one of you isn't already dead… how would you even know?”

Rana tried to block him out, tried to listen for movement, or a stirring in the air as he passed close by them. If she couldn't ignore him, she'd go mad. Joining her mother in the shards of her broken mind.

“Does she feel real, son of Bhaal? The harder you believe, the more solid she becomes, so what does it even matter if that's not really her? I would let you stay here with her. Ask me, and I'll let you. Ask me, and I'll tell you if she's really dead. If that's really her blood on your hands. Ask me…”

“I'm real, Sarevok. His mirror images are gone, but we've given him too much power, he can make us see anything he wants now. You have to believe it's really me. Or we're both going to die here.”

Sarevok said nothing, just clung to her tighter, his gauntlets piercing through her sleeve, through the  skin of her arm, and she found the pain helped her focus.

“Are you sure, Ilyrana? Do you _feel_ real? Have you _ever_ felt real? What _is_ real? How do you know you're not bleeding out on the floor? Gasping for breath as you die from the wound Sarevok gave you. How do you know I'm not showing you a kindness by letting you believe you're still fighting till the very end?”

_I'm real. I would know if I were dying… wouldn't I? Of course I would. I'm real. I’M REAL. I'M REAL I'M REAL I'M REAL I’M REAL!_

A shape in the shadows began to materialize, and she was suddenly thrown to the ground by Sarevok. As she scrambled to rise, she could do nothing in time to stop what happened, could do nothing but watch in horror as Sarevok cut down Imoen.

_“NOOO! Oh, gods, Immy!”_

Sarevok caught her before she could reach her sister, who had collapsed to the ground, one long, deep slash across her chest. The confusion and pain in the girl's eyes made her sick.

“It's not her! Rana, you have to stop believing so fiercely! You're never going to shake this if you don't!”

Imoen wasn't disappearing. She lay there. Alone in the dark. Gasping and trying to form words around the blood in her mouth.

Sarevok held her to him, pleading with her to trust him. That it was Jorval dying, not Imoen. How could it be Imoen? She was back home.

_She followed us. Like she did when Gorion and I left Candlekeep. She was going to try and help…_

“Rana, if I have to trust that I didn't kill you, then you have to trust that I didn't kill Imoen. _Please._ Believe me, for just a second. That's all it takes.”

How could she believe him? Believe _anything?_

 _“Trust me, Rana,”_ Sarevok whispered, shaking her a little.

She closed her eyes, blocking out the image of her sister as she took her last dying breaths. She had nothing left to lose. If _any_ of this was real, she would go insane. If it wasn't, though…

“Trust…”

Rana opened her eyes, and sagged against him as she saw Jorval's lifeless blue eyes staring up at them from a puddle of blood on the floor.

They were back in the sitting room. The marbled columns and vaulted ceiling had vanished. Bookshelves lay scattered and broken, with their contents strewn across the floor. The coffee table and chairs were smashed and upended.

Rana gazed around the room, feeling numb, not even trying to accept if this was real.

“Do you see?” Sarevok asked her, and the uncertainty in his voice pulled her away from the darkness inside her mind. “All of it was an illusion. Nothing that we saw was real. We've been in this room the whole time. Neither one of us are dead, or even really injured. Tell me you see what I see.”

He was trying to convince himself as well as her.

“I see the sitting room. And Jorval is dead. You killed him when he tried to appear as Imoen.”

“Yes,” he murmured, ripping off his gauntlets before gently sliding his hand across her lower back.

She leaned into him, feeling the bite of the ridges on his armor against her chest. She didn't care about the discomfort. Welcomed it in fact. Because it felt real.

“Let's go home,” Sarevok whispered.

_Home…_

The word was nice, but the reality of returning, of what awaited them there, only compounded her exhaustion and grief. Still, it was better than remaining here. If he'd said, “Let's open a portal to Hell and go there,” she would have gone along without a complaint. She would take Hell over this place.

Wordlessly, they left Jorval and his sanctuary of madness. Normally, she would have rummaged through his things, taking anything of interest or value, but she couldn't stand the thought of staying a second longer. Of touching anything he had touched. Of carrying with her anything that would remind her of what happened here. Even her dragonscale armor was difficult to throw in her bag, as it reminded her of her mother.

The children and the dwarf were gone. On their way to Tor Niedrig. And the presence of horses grazing near their own meant they'd turned the animals out of their stable, and took a few with them.

It was still dark outside, some time in the middle of the night. Or perhaps it was the following night. They didn't know. They didn't care.

They didn't push the horses as they left the walls behind, left the temple and its ghosts, just let them walk at an easy gait, both absorbed in their own thoughts.

If none of it was real, that meant what Gorion had said was a lie.

She wanted to believe it was the truth. That Jorval had been responsible for Gorion's actions. So she could let go of yet more hate. But accepting that as truth meant that she'd allow the rest of what happened in that room to linger on inside her mind. And she wanted to purge all of it from her memories.

She'd never know if that had been the truth or not. It would have angered her if she had any energy left for that emotion.

Sarevok reached over and took up her reigns, turning both their horses toward the forest. The sight of those trees, dark shapes outlined against the stars, made something in her chest tighten. She looked at him, trying to read his face in the dark. He didn't look at her, just kept his eyes forward as the forest neared.

She didn't know if she was ready for this after what happened. Or if visiting this place was exactly what she needed, what they both needed, to heal from it.

_“Let's go home.”_

He hadn't been referring to the house, the Rookery, in Tor Niedrig. He was talking about this forest. Their tree. Their refuge.

Insects and other nocturnal sounds quieted as they passed among the trees. Only to start up again a moment later. They navigated through the low hanging branches and upraised roots by the moonlight that made it through the leaves overhead. And, eventually, the emerald glow of Foxfire mushrooms growing on the trunks and stumps and branches. Dotting the forest like fallen viridian stars.

Their tree loomed ahead, dwarfing the ones around it, standing just as tall as she recalled it being.

“It’s smaller than I remember,” Sarevok murmured.

Despite everything, she found herself laughing, the sound hushing the forest again.

“Well, you did a lot more growing than I did.”

He snorted, the corners of his mouth trying to turn up despite his best efforts to keep them at their regular frown.

Dismounting near a small stream that now ran near the edge of the enclosed glade, he unsaddled and unbridled the horses, letting them graze where they would, confident the night and trees would keep them close.

As he began making a fire and unrolling the bed rolls, she stripped off the rest of her armor and knelt beside the stream, trying to scrub the blood and grime from her skin, hissing at the frigid water. When she was as clean as she could get without fully bathing, it was far too chilly for that, she rose and began walking around their tree.

Trailing her fingers across the rugged bark, and finding some of the indentions they'd made in the wood with sharpened rocks, she smiled sadly at the memories.

The caps of the glowing green mushrooms felt velvety beneath her fingertips.

Climbing up one of the low branches, she returned to the spot she'd once slept at, the first time she came to this place. She found more carvings, having forgotten they'd even made these, and the fact that they still remained, after so many years, gave her her first sense of peace in a very long time.

They'd come full circle. Returning to this sacred place against all odds. Against everything the gods could throw at them. That knowledge gave her strength.

Dropping to the ground, she searched for one particular spot between where some of the lower limbs branched off from the trunk. As she circled, using her hands to help her see in the dark, she felt Sarevok's eyes following her from where he knelt by the stream. He'd been marking her movements, never letting her out of his sight, and she understood why. Understood that he was afraid she'd disappear. Still just another illusion all along.

After two rotations around the base, she finally found what she was looking for. Her fingers dipped into the crevice, and when she felt the incredibly worn material of the almost disintegrated blanket tucked inside the hole between the limbs, she leaned against the tree, too overwhelmed to move.

Time had nearly covered the blanket, wrapped around the bag of supplies they'd hidden in this nook in the tree, the wood growing around it until it was almost sealed inside. A few more years, and it would become a part of the tree. The sap preserving it for centuries. Perhaps as long as they would live.

“Is it still there?” Sarevok asked from behind her. “After all this time?”

She nodded, unable to speak around the lump in her throat. After a time, her forehead pressed against the tree as she steadied herself, she spoke.

“Do you think we would have made it?”

“You mean if we hadn't been separated?”

“Yes.”

He didn't answer right away. Not until he'd reached out to touch the blanket, to reassure himself it was actually there. Then, he gently turned her around to face him. He'd removed his armor and cleaned up in the stream. She suspected he'd spent extra time ensuring no traces of her blood remained on him, even if it had never actually been there.

“No, little one. I don't think we would have made it.”

His answer stung for some reason. Maybe she'd assumed it would be the opposite. His arrogance giving him the certainty that they could have survived, even as young and vulnerable as they were. Before she could speak again, he continued.

“I think, perhaps, it's better this way. What happened. Gorion tearing us apart.”

“How can you say that?” She demanded, unable to hide the pain in her voice. “Erasing our memories was the driving force behind everything that happened between us! Even if that illusion had been right, you and I went through hell because of it! You _literally_ went to Hell! That would never have happened if we'd been able to stay together!”

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. He watched his hand brush away her damp hair from her face, tucking some of it behind a pointed ear.

“Rana, one of us was still going to have to die. Because of the prophecy. Would it not have been worse if we'd stayed together, somehow escaping this place? If we'd grown up together, the bond between us strengthening naturally, rather than by force, as happened with our soul? If, when the time came that we realized what this temple was, and the purpose for our being here, we learned that we were bred to kill one another? Could you have struck me down and lived through the loss? Do you think _I_ could have murdered you and then not _immediately_ followed you into the Abyss, or to whatever other end? No… it's best Gorion did what he did. For whatever reasons he actually did it. It's best that _I_ died, sparing you Hell. If I could have known we would end up back here, together, _alive,_ I would have suffered my damnation gladly.”

She hadn't realized she'd been crying while he spoke, until he brushed her tears away. She was surprised there were any left, after all she'd shed this night.

When he took a breath to say something else, she rose up on her toes and kissed him. She felt his surprise, and it was brief. With an anguished groan he pulled her against him, tangling a hand in her hair as he tilted her head back to deepen the kiss. She clung to him, her nails biting into the back of his neck when she wrapped her arms around him, that desperation to be closer returning tenfold.

She needed him. Now.

And always.

The bark of their tree bit into her back as she was lifted and pressed against it. Her legs wrapped around his waist, the memory of that night they'd sparred, the night he'd defeated her, in more ways than one, making her dizzy with want. Her long sleeved shirt was tossed to the ground, and her head fell back as his lips descended from hers, brushing down her neck, then her clavicle. Her bra joined her shirt among the leaves.

She didn't realize they were moving, that he carried her to their bedrolls, lost in the sensation of his mouth covering one of her breasts, teasing the nipple with his tongue. He laid her back against the blankets, following her down, settling his weight above her, and her hunger began burning out of her control.

They kissed as if they faced the gallows in the morning. As if they knew there were already forces at work, conspiring to interrupt them, to take her from him once again.

They kissed until they shared breaths, each ragged inhalation indistinguishable from the other's. Until all that mattered in their shared world were the constant reassurances that they were both alive. That this was all real.

Her palms slid up his sides, dragging his shirt up at the same time. Reaching back with one hand, he grasped the material and ripped it over his head before taking her mouth again.

His hands roamed over the silken paleness of her skin while her own explored the dark scarred expanse of his. Each hitched breath, each moan of desire, each new scar their fingers discovered urging them past the point of no return. Until the hand on her side stopped in its exploration, lingering over the jagged scar that curved around her waist. Until her own came to rest on the scar across his torso.

They paused, and he drew back to look at her, both of them touching the scars they'd given one another. With deliberate slowness and intention, she ran her hand up his chest then around the back of his neck, tugging him back down to claim his mouth with her own.

“Rana…”

She gasped when he ground his hips against hers, at the friction caused by the hard length of him pressing against the juncture of her thighs. With a growl, he knelt up and began tugging her boots, then her leggings, and everything else in between off of her and throwing them to the side. When she was finally bare to him, he froze, staring down at her, his eyes burning with soft golden light.

“Defeated… yet again, by you,” he whispered.

Reaching for him, sliding her hands over the muscles of his torso, and feeling them clench beneath her touch, she pulled him down to her.

“I need you… _now,”_ she whimpered, unable to wait any longer.

His hands tightened painfully around her hips at her plea. A wordless cry of disappointment escaped her throat, though, when he moved from between her legs to lay on his side next to her. That cry tapered off into a moan when she felt his calloused fingers trail down her stomach, circle her navel once, twice, before descending lower.

Rising up on an elbow, he leaned down to press his lips back to her own, his tongue twining with hers as he sank a finger inside of her core. Her cry of pleasure nearly drowned out his groan of anguish.

“Gods,” he growled into her ear. “Rana, I'm going to hurt you, you're too tight.”

She would have laughed if she could remember how to.

“I don't care,” she finally panted.

When her hips began to arch up to his hand, her cries growing louder as she neared her peak, he stopped moving, and she keened.

His chuckle at her plight made her dig her nails into his forearm, urging him to finish what he'd started.

_“Please, Sarevok… need to feel you inside me…”_

His teeth sank into her shoulder, muffling his defeated groan, as he began tearing at his breeches with shaky hands. Before he could move atop her, she reached for him, wrapping her hand around his shaft, and suddenly understood his concern for her welfare. As deliriously aroused as she was, though, she was confident she could manage just fine.

“Slow,” he bit out, placing his hand over hers to control her strokes. “Or this will be over before it's even started.”

Smirking at being able to turn the tables, however briefly he allowed it, she nipped at his neck while her hand squeezed around him. Relishing the taste of his skin, and the quickening of his pulse beneath her teeth.

“Rana, I'll be gentle for as long as I can,” he murmured hoarsely.

 _We'll see about that…_ she thought to herself.

If she wanted gentle, she wouldn't be here with him. With _this_ man in particular.

Rolling her beneath him, he rose up and took himself in hand, gripping her thigh in the other, holding her open to him. His eyes met hers when she felt him brush against her entrance. She held his gaze as her hips undulated up to him, hissing in a breath as she felt her wet heat glide against his erection.

With a beastial snarl, he pushed into her, his hands sliding up to pin her hips into the blankets, holding her still to receive him. It took three agonizingly slow thrusts, each deeper than the last, before he was buried as deep inside of her as he could go.

Sinking down onto one elbow, his other hand firmly wrapped around her hip, he looked at her. His breathing was labored from the effort of holding himself still, allowing her body to become accustomed to his.

“Are you all right?” He asked her, his voice strained with the need to take her as he so needed to.

She nodded, not trusting her voice. There was pain, as he'd predicted. It had been so long, and his size would take some getting used to, but the discomfort didn't bother her. Quite the opposite in fact. She just didn't want him to think he had to handle her as if she were made of glass.

“Rana…”

She leaned up to capture his lips with hers, certain that if she stared into the intensity burning in his eyes any longer, she would be undone completely. Irrevocably altered by his palpable need for her.

The kiss was languid, a sharp contrast to the raw sensual desperation burning between them, the amount of control it took to hold back, to prolong this moment, as well as prepare them both for what would come next.

When she could take no more of his stillness, of feeling him throbbing inside of her with none of that delicious friction, she rolled her hips, urging him to take her, a small whine of frustration escaping her lips.

That was all it took.

With an almost audible sound, his control snapped.

Drawing his hips back, he drug her against him as he plunged into her, and she broke the kiss when her head fell back, eyes sliding shut at the force of him driving into her as he set a bruising rhythm.

Her nails scored his back, drawing blood as she tore into the scars there. His teeth marked her breasts, her throat, and his fingers dug a little deeper into her hips with each thrust.

Heat pooled in her abdomen, burning hotter when he whispered her name, his deep voice tinged with awe as he took her closer to the edge.

She tried to match his pace, moving her body with his, but he kept her pinned beneath him, limiting her movements, trying to last as long as he was able.

 _“Oh, gods…”_ she moaned, back arching, nails raking for purchase, as her climax danced just out of reach.

The rhythm changed as he slowed, sinking even deeper inside of her with each stroke, and putting more pressure against her most sensitive spot. The effect was immediate, and she wasn't prepared for it.

Sinking her teeth into his chest, she screamed, helpless to do anything more than writhe beneath him as her muscles clenched around him, her body shuddering through a powerful release.

_“Rana…”_

He groaned her name as he joined her, somehow thrusting even deeper as he came, and she whimpered at the feel of him pulsing inside of her.

They lay like this for several moments, their heaving breaths the only sound in the now silent forest. His weight should have been uncomfortable, but she felt like he was keeping her grounded, holding her to him so she couldn't float away or otherwise disappear.

“Are you all right?” He eventually asked again, drawing back just enough to look down at her, his hand brushing her hair away from her face.

“Yeah. You?”

Her question seemed to amuse him, until he began to pull away, and the scratches along his back and the bite wound on his chest reopened, making him wince.

“I'll live,” he hissed, dropping onto his side beside her before wrapping an arm over her and pulling her back against his chest.

“You better,” she mumbled, tucking the blanket around her when he pulled it over them, her exhaustion returning with a vengeance. “You're no good to me dead… _OW!”_

She kicked back at him when he nipped her shoulder in response to her teasing.

“Go to sleep, little one. You're going to need your rest,” he rumbled groggily, sliding an arm beneath her head and tightening his other around her waist.

“Sounds like a threat.”

“Oh, it is,” he replied.

Neither would remember whatever clever retort she was sure she made, as they both fell into a deep sleep, lulled by the familiar sounds of their forest as the insects took up their songs again, beneath their tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They were supposed to be serious and all trembling reverent hands after the deed was done, but they got all silly on me and I kept it because I felt it helped after the ordeal they'd just gone through.


	26. The End

“Some kinds of love ignite into a conflagration that burns out of control, scorching the ones who struck the match, and those caught in the blast radius. In the end, and there's always an end, the question is not if there is anything left to salvage once the embers have cooled. It's whether or not they can rise from the ashes, hardened by the fire, or if nothing remains but the smoking reminder of what it was like to play with fire.” - Haer'Dalis

Greetings, friends.

So, after weeks of agonizing over the changes Rana and Sarevok have made to my telling of this story, and spending too many nights tossing and turning in my sleep while I chase dead ends and different outcomes of their tale, I think I have finally begun to get a handle on it. 

Chapter 25, Homecoming: Part 2, is the end of Revelations and Reconciliation. We saw Rana and Sarevok come full circle, face Jorval, find answers to their childhood and the memories stolen from them, and got a few more questions for their troubles.

Their story, however, is far from over. Part 2 of this saga is about to begin. Look for it, titled Daughters Deceived, in the coming weeks. Some things to look forward to: 

  * Possible PoVs from additional characters. 
  * A few familiar faces will be joining the cast. Minsc and Boo, Aerie, Safana, Dorn, and Kivan, among others.
  * Plot twists not seen in the last game. I felt the end was rather lackluster, when there was plenty of material for some truly heartwrenching decisions, so I have corrected that.
  * Cyric is going to play a MUCH bigger role than he did in the game.



I'd like to take a second to thank everyone, Wilvarin (girl, where you at?), Grushenka, AvandraTheMarySueSlayer, Divina_tb, madlabrat, and every other single person who has left a kudo, a comment, and taken a read. When I started this journey, I never expected this story to get the kind of reception it has. And I can honestly say that I wouldn't have made it half this far without the support. From the deepest corners of my heart, I thank each and every one of you. 

What follows is the story summary of Daughters Deceived. The first chapter will be up soonish, and it will begin right where Revelations and Reconciliation left off. The morning after. Until then, I may post a few more tidbits into Rana's Rambles, and will be lurking and obsessively reading each new chapter of everyone else's stories. 

* * *

 

Reconciled at long last, Sarevok and Rana must now face the remainder of their siblings and bring the Prophecy to a close. But their fight has only just begun. 

Can they put to rest the ghosts of their past? Or will their demons, both literal and of their own make, tear them apart once more? 

How far is Sarevok willing to go to keep Rana alive, at his side, and perhaps hardest of all, sane? 

Will the sisters of Candlekeep be able to reunite and put their differences aside, or will the growing darkness in their blood be too much to surmount? 

Lines are drawn, sides are taken, oaths will be shattered, and bonds will be broken. As the gods tip their hands and secrets are revealed that threaten to rip apart the very fabric of the realms, only two things are known for certain:

Victory is not always worth the price paid to achieve it.

And sometimes love truly cannot conquer all.

Forget everything you think you know about the story of Gorion's Ward, friends. 


End file.
